Set Me Free
by Gwynn
Summary: CHAPTER 18 UP! Helga tries to forget Arnold, but what will happen when circumstances force them together? Contains some strong language and mature themes. Helga/Arnold pairing ON HOLD
1. Helga: Rampant Chaos

**Set Me Free**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the _Hey _****_Arnold_****_! _characters.**

**Author's Note: This first part was written from Helga's point of view. The next will be written in ****Arnold****'s own perspective as well. Following chapters will alternate between the two characters.**

**Helga: Rampant Chaos**

**_Don't say I'm out of touch_**

**_With this rampant chaos-your reality_**

**_I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge_**

**_The nightmare I built my own world to escape..._**

**_Evanescence, "Imaginary"_**

May 2001

****"Damn it!" I moaned in disappointment.

The clock radio on the nightstand next to my bed was practically blaring deafening alternative music in my ears, interrupting another marvelous Arnold dream. Even though I must've had at least one every night, they were never long enough for my satisfaction. As usual, I smothered the urge to hurl the contraption against the wall and forced myself out of the inviting comfort of my bed to start another unpromising day.

"Man, I feel like I've been hit by a truck!" I groaned, clutching my throbbing head. "I'm going to need a ton of coffee before I'm fit for human contact."

I smiled at the irony of my last remark. If anything, I was on the verge of being completely antisocial. There were not many people in the world whom I really liked and fewer still that I truly respected. With my abrasive wit and Old Betsy and the Five Avengers as constant companions, I was able to keep all those saps and maroons at bay.

Arnold was my greatest reason for not abandoning humanity altogether. I'd been in love with him since preschool, for he was the first to notice me as an actual individual and not as some shadow of my perfect sister _Olga_. Even after I'd earned my blustery, scornful bitch reputation, Arnold still believed my behavior was nothing more than a veneer to cover up the softer side he once knew. 

That was what I admired most about Arnold: his altruistic personality. You don't find a lot of his kind around anymore, especially those willing to practice the ideals that the rest of us would leave to theory. I couldn't begin to tell of the countless Good Samaritan deeds he'd done over the years for the betterment of our neighborhood. 

Nevertheless, as deep as my devotion was, I knew I could never reveal my feelings to Arnold. I had nothing to offer him. Not that he'd received any encouragement from me other than contemptuous bullying, which I had to do in order to fully control and conceal my affections.

All right, I was also a coward. Beyond my insecurities about myself, of which were numerous, I had no wish to subject myself to the vulnerability that results from exposing yourself to the scrutiny of others. The only one I'd officially let society lay claim on me was my best friend, Phoebe Heyerdahl. No one else was deemed necessary to be privy to my inner thoughts, least of all Arnold. It was _much_ safer to nurture my growing passion in private.

_Obsession is more like it, _I thought, grinning broadly in amusement. I hopped out of bed, strode up to my closet, and threw open the door. In the front were several cardboard boxes containing books full of Arnold-inspired poetry and prose. Behind the clothes hanging in there was my Arnold shrine occupying the very back as it always had. Anymore I didn't chant to it or dance around my room while wearing the head, yet I did prefer to keep it around for old times' sake. Usually I would end up sprawled out next to the shrine whenever I was scribbling my sentiments down in this notebook or that. In fact, I planned to do just that before I had to get ready for school...

A loud knock thwarted my efforts. Irritated, I dropped the book I had picked up back on the stack where it came from and marched out, slamming the closet shut behind me.

"Helga?" It was my mother. "Are you awake?" She turned the knob on the hall door several times, but it wouldn't budge. "Honey, are you all right? The door's locked."

_Well, doy, of course it is, _I silently answered her, rolling my eyes. _How else can I get any privacy around here?_

Aloud I retorted, "Everything's just peachy here, Miriam." I unclasped the bolt on the hall door and cracked it open, adding dryly, "And you?"

Mom appeared exceptionally haggard this morning, even for her uncomfortable habit of sleeping on the couch. I suspected she was suffering from another hangover brought on by spiking too many smoothies. Although she must've indulged in this activity on the sly for years, I hadn't caught on until I was twelve.

"Could you keep the music down?" my mother requested, adjusting her wire-frame glasses over her nose. "B.'s complaining that he can hear it all the way down the hall."

I had forgotten about that. Shrugging indifferently, I flipped the radio off. It wasn't like I _wanted_ to listen to it, it was just a convenient way to drag my ass out of bed in the morning without having to rely on people like my irresponsible mother, who was too busy "looking for her keys". Believe me, if my parents, for all their blatant favoritism and neglect, had taught me anything, it was independence.

The silence didn't last long. "Miriam!" my father roared. 

"Uh-oh," Miriam mumbled to herself. "I better go see what's bothering B."

Bob materialized in front of us, saving her the trouble. Instead of wearing his usual polo shirt and khaki pants, he was in a suit, which slightly surprised me. _Dad must be meeting with someone important enough to impress,_ I guessed. _Miriam and I are sure to hear about that one later._

"B., what's wrong?" Mom sputtered.

I snorted derisively. "As if it isn't already apparent Bob's pissed at you, Miriam," I muttered to myself.

Evidently I needed to improve on scoffing under my breath. Bob's head twisted around toward me so fast that I swore it could've snapped off. "HEY, HEY, HEY! What was that, little lady? Are you disrespecting your mother?"

Funny he should word it that way. Wasn't the situation reversed just a moment ago? I felt like telling him, "Hey, hey, hey, if you can't tolerate the same shit you deal out, at least recognize the hypocrisy in yourself."

However, the hallowed day in which I would be able to irrevocably affront my old man was still frustratingly out of my grasp. I wasn't even in high school yet, or, rather, I wouldn't be until my eighth grade graduation later this month. For now, I'd have to settle on using a more indirect method of conveying deviousness in my house.

"It was nothing, _Dad_," I replied coldly.

Dad didn't even blink. "Report to the trophy room _pronto_ after school, Helga!" he bellowed, sticking a thick forefinger in my face. "Now get ready for school! I have to talk to your mother."

Immediately Bob launched into a tirade about how Miriam misplaced his shaving cream with the cheese fizz again. _Why don't they admit it's a lost cause and get a divorce? _I glowered sullenly, stalking my way into the bathroom.

Once I hopped into the shower, though, my temper cooled, and with its departure, concern set in. _This is serious, _I thought._ Bob never calls me by my right name, much less summon me into Olga's own private shrine, unless I really am in trouble._


	2. Arnold: Dream On

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: I know this part will seem kind of vague, but the purpose of the first chapters is to mostly to introduce Helga and ****Arnold****'s surroundings a little. I promise things will get rolling. Enjoy and keep on reviewing.**

**Arnold****: Dream On**

**_Dream on, dream on  
Dream yourself a dream come true  
Dream on, dream on  
Dream until your dream come true  
Dream on, dream on, dream on..._**

**_Aerosmith_****_, "Dream On"  
_**  


May 2001

"Hey, Arnold! Hey, Arnold! Hey..." Lazily opening one eye, I silenced the mechanical voice by pulling a wire out of the potato that powered my alarm clock.

Although it was already seven o'clock, just a half hour before I'd have to catch the bus for school, I remained laying on my back in bed. Beyond the skylight directly over my bed loomed a perfectly cloudless sky typical of late spring's balmy weather. _How many times have I lost myself in that vast blue expanse?_ I wondered absently, then chuckled when I realized what I'd thought. _If Grandpa could hear me now, he would warn me against eating too many raspberries or too much of Grandma's cooking._

That was nothing new to me; my grandfather's advise, to say the least, had always been a bit muddled or comical, and he wasn't above telling a tall tale or exaggerating something, even when you knew he was blatantly lying. Because of his love-hate relationship with food, he seemed to almost live in the bathroom, which he dubbed as his "office". Every once in a while, he'd wander out to clash heads with the boarders, who heckled him constantly with complaints of maintenance, Grandma's cooking, etc. I'd pretty much taken over collecting the rent, since the boarders tended to avoid paying it to Grandpa.

Grandma had her moments as well, if not more so than Grandpa, who probably summed it up best when he once remarked, "Your grandmother, shall we say, has her own way of doing things." Basically, she was totally out of it, and, depending upon the occasion (and her identity), she could pull off some wacky antics. Strangely enough, Grandma did have a few instances of sanity only whenever everyone else around her went crazy.

The boarders were an odd assortment from all walks of life. Ernie Potts was an outspoken man with a flair for demolitions. Ernie had some insecurities that stemmed from his short stature, but dating a model named Lola appeared to help his self-image. Mr. Hyunh was a Vietnamese man whose only family was a daughter named Mai. Formerly a country and western singer, he was now more happily settled as head chef in a restaurant, although he had a tendency to be somewhat neurotic. Oskar and Suzie Kokoshka were a married couple with no children. While Oskar lazed around their apartment, Suzie juggled the management of their home and the long hours at her department store job. Still, Oskar was able to periodically snap out of his selfish haze long enough to remind Suzie of why she'd married him in the first place. Lastly, there was Mr. Smith. I didn't know anything else about him except that he was rich enough to support his expensive habit of safeguarding his extreme need for privacy.

For all the madness that my house contained, it had a weird sense of normalcy about it. This whole neighborhood was an acquired taste, to be sure, yet I was glad I had been one of those few who could truly appreciate it. All my life up until this point was tied into this place, and I knew it would always be a part of me, no matter what...

"Good morning, short man," my grandfather, knocking on the door to my room. Without waiting for a response, he stuck his wizened head inside. "Ah, our minds are wandering again this morning?" He had always called me the dreamer of the family. "Shouldn't you be leaving soon?"

Startled, I bolted upright and instinctively checked my clock. Of course, the hands were stuck on seven o'clock, since I'd completely disconnected it upon first waking up.

"Grandpa, what time is it?" I cried in panic, tossing the covers to the side as I leapt out of bed. 

"If you hurry, Arnold, you might get some breakfast. Pookie's making flapjacks." He winked knowingly before shutting the door.

Immediately I dashed to my closet and grabbed a t-shirt and jeans. After changing into them, I seized a comb and battled briefly with my unruly blond hair. I was out the door and down the stairs once I put on my tennis shoes and snatched up my books for school. As I tugged on the rope that folded up the retractable stairs to my room, voices drifted down the hall toward me.

"Kokoshka, you lousy bum, get the hell out of there!" Ernie was bellowing.

"Yes, I have to got to work!" Mr. Hyunh shouted in agreement. "Besides, he smell!"

"I don't stink!" Ernie protested angrily.

"Yes, you do, and you are very creepy, too!"

"Really, Hyunh? Well, you are a regular pain in the..."

_I'm glad I take my showers at night,_ I thought, shaking my head. _That way, I don't have to go through the daily ritual of waiting in line for the bathroom. It's amazing that Grandpa himself isn't holding things up._

Suddenly I recalled the bus I had to catch. I raced past Mr. Hyunh and Ernie, who were too busy arguing with each other to even detect my fast escape.

A faint burning odor reached my nose as I neared the kitchen. Rounding the corner, I discovered the source of the stench to be the pancakes my grandmother was cooking over the stove. Grandpa ignored the already tall stack accumulating on the table, preferring to peruse the morning paper.

Grandma smiled at me. "Good morning, kimba." I noticed the round, tan hat perched on her head and the khaki outfit she wore under her apron, taking it to mean she was a safari guide this morning. "Will you and the colonel be having breakfast?"

"The colonel" was my best friend, Gerald Johanssen. "No, thanks, Grandma. There isn't any time," I refused, grinning at her. I poured myself a glass of orange juice and drained it in one gulp. "I'm going to meet Gerald at the bus stop."

"All right, kimba, but remember, it's a dangerous out there," she cautioned me, closely watching a fly that had just buzzed into view. "Dinner will be at 1800 hours. Be on time. We should have some fresh kill." With that, she grasped a fly swatter in one hand and a spatula in the other, chasing after the fly.

I headed for the back door. "Good-bye, Grandpa, Grandma!" I yelled over my shoulder on the way out.

"Have a good day, short man!" Grandpa replied, still engrossed in the paper. Before I closed the door behind me, though, he exclaimed to himself, "Oh, to be young, pink, and in a hurry!"

_Where have I heard that one before? _I wondered. 

Then I spotted my pet pig Abner wander out of his house in the backyard, and I laughed out loud.


	3. Helga: One of Those Days

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: I'm sorry I wasn't more specific on certain things like age. I tried to make this chapter more descriptive because I finally include part of the P.S. 118 gang, and since they're older, they're obviously going to look different than they were in fourth grade. Yes, Arnold and Helga are 14 years old in this fanfic, but I want to finish this story out with them a little bit older (hence the later sexual overtones). Please bear with me if it takes a while. I hope there are readers out there who like a long story. Anyway, enjoy and keep on reviewing!**

**Helga: One of Those Days **

**_Thought that I was going crazy  
Just having one of those days yeah  
Didn't know what to do  
Then there was you..._**

**_Kylie Minogue, "Love at First Sight"_**

May 2001

"Where's the damn bus?" I muttered, checking my watch impatiently. "It's after 7:30!"

As if on cue, the huge gray vehicle rolled to a stop in front of me. The double doors parted with a _whoosh_, revealing a bored zombie of a driver. He barely glanced at me as I deposited the money for the fare in a plastic coin box. That was fine with me, since I had business of my own to attend to; I headed straight for the back.

Plopping down in a seat, I unzipped my brown backpack. Nestled among the textbooks was a plain notebook that I pulled out. What it contained inside, though, was anything but ordinary. My secret thoughts were poured out on its pages. Dr. Bliss, the school psychologist, had suggested that I start this journal as a supplement to my poetry for venting my emotions (she knew all about my obsession for Arnold; more on that later). Although I followed her advice, I also guarded that particular book with my life. Furthermore, I required that all books for writing in public be a nondescript black. I didn't need Arnold making a correlation between me and the pink book of poetry he found back in fourth grade. I was only able to narrowly avert his discovery of me as the author that time, but I learned my lesson. 

With this in mind, I quickly surveyed my surroundings. Except for a few noisy children younger than me up front, the nearest person was an old man and judging by his loud snoring, the prune didn't stand a chance of waking up to make his own stop, much less to spy on me. Without further hesitation, I unclipped the black pen attached to the journal, flipped to a clean sheet, and let the words flow forth:

_ Oh, __Arnold__, next week we shall graduate from P.S. 118. I have such mixed feelings about this._

_ On the one hand, I'll have completed one more milestone in my quest to rid myself of my ogre of a father. All he does anymore is fight, especially with my deadweight mother. It should be nothing new to me, yet I believe that matters have only intensified. Some kind of escalation of events will occur soon, of that I am sure. _

_ Even Olga doesn't fully escape __Dad__'s wrath. She couldn't be the concert pianist he wanted. No, my sister decided to move to __Alaska__ five years ago so that she could teach impoverished Inuit children. What Bob never realized was that she did it for me as much for herself, to give Dad and me a chance together. Well, he's failed miserably, and I'm going to be just as successful as Olga was, only it'll be on my own terms, without ever looking back._

_ I also find myself at a crossroads with you, my love. We've been inseparable all these years in elementary school. Now we stand at the great precipice of high school. Everything will mutate beyond its recognizable form at present. How will I bear not to gaze at your distinctly football-shaped head each period? Will you even remember me as your childhood tormentor while you stroll through the halls of West Hillwood High? Surely not, for you have Lila to pine after..._

As I scrawled that last sentence, my teeth clenched so firmly in anger that I had to slam my notebook shut to keep from shattering them. I absolutely, without a doubt, despised Lila Sawyer the most out of anyone in this world. Arnold had had the biggest, stupidest, la-di-da crush on her since fourth grade. If that wasn't enough, Lila happened to be one of the hugest phonies I'd ever had the misfortune of meeting besides the con man Olga almost married. Naturally, she was too shallow to give Arnold the time of day, so she'd been dangling him along like a sick puppy on a leash to the present day. I couldn't believe he allowed it to go on! The sweet, thoughtful boy who always took a stand on all other things, whether or not it was popular, permitted himself to be blinded just like everyone else by her cheery, wholesome routine.

My own involvement in the sordid affair summed up to be the beginnings of a horrible satire. I'd started it all with some writing on the wall, so to speak. To this day, I fervently wished I'd scribbled "Arnold loves Helga" instead of "Arnold loves Lila," because things might've been much different. Let's just say I won't ever again contribute to the wonderful art of graffiti. Later, after Lila had rejected Arnold, I succumbed to periods of temporary insanity by inventing disastrous schemes to deliver him from Lila's devious clutches. I'd even resorted to confessing my love for him to her in order to be opposite Arnold in the title roles of****_Romeo and Juliet._ Kissing him onstage before any girl had more than made up for any chagrin I'd went through. If I never had another happy moment in my life, I could recall the soft kiss and live on that. 

Still, I wondered what Lila thought of the fact that she held both of our fates in her hands. That didn't mean I wouldn't hesitate to thoroughly trounce her ass if she ever did vocalize my secret. 

The red brick structure of P.S. 118 appeared in my window, interrupting my musings. However, I didn't have to yank on the cord to notify the driver I needed to get off. Because of the clamoring children, he instantly halted in front of the school. Sighing, I put the notebook away, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and followed the bouncing rugrats outside.

Groups of students milled about near the immense concrete steps that led inside. None of them interested me except a petite girl with faint Asian features. She was standing alone at the foot of the steps, burdened down with heavy textbooks. This was Phoebe.

"One side, moron!" I hissed to my a shrimpy kid who was in my way. 

"Helga, I was waiting for someone-" he started in a futile attempt to reason with me.

"Move it, geek-bait, or you'll have to answer to Old Betsy!" I growled menacingly, shaking my beloved fist in his face.

I smiled as the kid scattered. I was legendary at P.S. 118 for causing a load of trouble for both faculty and students alike. The only one who could beat me to the punch was Big Patty Smith, and she'd gone to high school about two years ago.

Still grinning, I ambled up to my best friend. "Hey, Phoebs! How are the contacts working out?"

Phoebe's expressive black eyes, recently liberated of her former coke-bottle glasses, danced. "Fine, Helga." She looked like she fit to burst. "Helga, have you heard the news?" she abruptly blurted out. 

_Wow, Phoebe's really excited, _I marveled. _She's always so restrained unless something important comes up._

"No, what?" I inquired noncommittally, shrugging.

"Rhonda is throwing a graduation party," my best friend revealed eagerly.

My eye automatically roved over to Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd's usual perch at the top of the steps. A tall, skinny brunette, she was surrounded by her clique of snobs as self-absorbed and loaded as she was. As the established socialite in our class, she always hosted the "bashes of the season." What I didn't understand was why Phoebe could be so animated for this particular one. Rhonda's tirades at these events about finger sandwiches and "cool" people wasn't anything new.

"Big deal," I scoffed indifferently. "I'm not going. I wouldn't be caught dead there."

"_I _would, Helga, even if you're too scared to take any risks," Phoebe sniffed, apparently hurt.

She was referring to Arnold, whom she'd known about forever, even if I hadn't literally told her in so many words. The blow was low, I had to admit, yet I couldn't deny that I didn't deserve it. "I'm sorry, Phoebe."

"That's all right." She adjusted the weight of her backpack to her thin shoulder blades and produced an embossed invitation from her purse. "Rhonda is inviting everybody. You should attend, Helga; it's the last time our class will be _together_ like this."

"Phoebe..." My best friend was at it again with the Arnold bullshit. She'd always urged me to tell Arnold how I felt about him. 

Phoebe took the hint, but she switched to a subject that was just as baiting. "Well, I'm going to ask Gerald to go with me. What do you think?"

Gerald Johanssen was Arnold's best friend. It was kind of funny how Phoebe had taken a shine to him as much I had to Arnold. She was always so intelligent and practical, the complete opposite of Gerald. He was all about seeking attention and smooth talking. Then again, to a reticent girl like Phoebe, he must've seemed appealing in a flashy way. Although I personally found him to be rather annoying, I didn't have the heart to let her know that! This was the first time she was deciding to act upon her desires, and who was I to rain on her parade? Besides, the possibility of Arnold going suddenly made Rhonda's get-together appear a lot more attractive. 

"When's the party?" I questioned, flashing her one of my rare grins of genuine enthusiasm.

"Next Friday, right after graduation, of course," Phoebe reported, gazing at me expectantly.

My smile grew even wider as another gray bus pulled up and a certain football-headed boy stepped out. "Count me in," I professed flamboyantly


	4. Arnold: A Day Just Like This

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: I'm putting of the first Helga and Arnold encounter of the story until the next chapter. It's for a good reason (I promise!). I hope I've been true so far to ****Arnold****'s personality and those of his friends. This whole story will be full of Helga and ****Arnold****'s personal thoughts and reactions to each other. I'm a big fan of psychology, so don't mind me if I seen to wander a little bit (that's why I listed angst as the secondary genre for the story). Actually, I hope to make the story even better if I show the intricacies of Arnoldand Helga's minds. Enjoy and keep on reviewing!**

**Arnold****: A Day Just Like This**

**_It was a day just like this_**__

**_In a life of our times…_**__

**_The Calling, "Nothing's Changed"_**__

May 2001

I swiftly covered the few short blocks to the bus stop where I met Gerald everyday. Surprisingly, he was already there waiting for me. Since he wasn't exactly a morning person, I suspected his father must've been extra upset about something other than the "wasteful" use of electricity reflected on the utility bill.

Sure enough, as I neared Gerald, disgruntlement was clearly apparent on his dark-skinned face. "Man, Arnold, did we wake up into some sort of freaky alternate universe," he exclaimed without preamble, "because I swear that this has got to be one of the worst Mondays I've had in a while!"

Before I could ask him what he meant, a familiar high-pitched voice behind him began singing, "La, la, la..." 

It was his little sister, Timberly. Her long ebony hair, drawn back into the complicated braids her mother wove everyday, whipped behind her in the gentle breeze. Leaning against a nearby speeding limit sign, she scanned the horizon for presumably the impending bus.

She'd joined us in our daily bus ride after being upgraded to P.S. 118 upon completion of preschool. That was over four years ago, and Gerald still dreaded the duty that'd been delegated to him by Mr. Johanssen. As I let my gaze wander again to Timberly's lone slight figure, I couldn't help wishing somewhat wistfully that she and Gerald could get along better. Despite her endless chatter and occasional whining, she was an okay kid.

Guessing that Timberly was oblivious to us, I tried to soothe Gerald's anger by appealing to his sense of humor, "What's wrong, Gerald? I can't seem to remember anything more trying on the agenda this morning other than delivering Timberly to Mr. Simmons." Timberly, who was in the fourth grade, was taught by Mr. Simmons, a former teacher of ours.

Timberly giggled. "Dad said Gerald has to get his hair cut off!" she blurted.

_Uh-oh, I thought ominously. __Now there's going to be trouble. Not only had Timberly dared to interject, which would probably lead to their customary bickering, but she'd also touched on one of his most personal subjects. In fact, I still wasn't certain that I'd heard her right. The huge afro he'd always sported was as much a part of his identity as a certain tiny blue hat was to me. It would be unthinkable to even consider having his hair shorn! _

Besides, his hair also fulfilled a useful purpose as well as a personal one. It lent him additional height to his already tall, lean frame, giving him a definite advantage in that department over the girls and their heeled shoes. As a short guy myself (hence Grandpa's nickname, even to this day), beating out only Eugene and Sid, I really appreciated that quality. Gerald, though, didn't take being tall for granted; he was acutely aware of the fickleness of the growth spurts that ravaged through the boys. One moment your body was proportionally balanced, the next you were struck with the lanky curse.

"Timberly, shut up!" Gerald warned in a tight, low voice.

"Big brothers are such a pain!" Timberly loudly complained, drawing a couple of curious glances from several passers-by.

Although it might've been imprudent, I decided to intervene before the situation turned ugly. "You guys, this doesn't solve anything," I pointed out calmly, "and it certainly doesn't make you look more mature."

Timberly and Gerald stared at me with twin expressions of blankness. _That's probably the first time they've agreed so far today, I thought in amusement._

Luckily, the bus arrived, hopefully bringing an end to the conflict. "Can we save it for later?" I half- pleaded, half-reasoned as the doors whooshed open.

Gerald slowly exhaled an intake of air he'd been holding. "All right, Timberly, you win this round," he conceded, then adding sternly, "But you better go sit with Tisha and not say a word to me once we're on the bus." 

"Okay, Gerald," Timberly replied, a complacent smirk spread across her face. She skipped onto the bus without once looking back, humming absently.

"Arnold, why do you always do that?" Gerald demanded, turning on me in annoyance. 

"What are you talking about?"

"I should be mad at Timberly, but I always end up feeling sorry for her and caving in to her pestering," he answered, exasperated.

"Come on, Gerald, she's okay sometimes," I defended, boarding the bus and paying the fare. 

He was right on my heels as I stepped over the yellow line demarcating the start of the rows of green vinyl seats. "Whatever you say, Arnold," he sighed. 

Many of our classmates were present on the bus. Harold Berman, who was wolfing down a breakfast burrito, mumbled a greeting through a mouthful of egg and sausage. Park droned on to Iggy, the cool kid of the class, about some odds and ends for his new high schooler sanctuary. Iggy simply stared out the window, his purple shades pulled over his eyes to ward out the glaring sun. Stinky Petersen and his best friend Sid whispered to each other conspiratorially, probably brainstorming for another way to pull a prank on the class jinx/klutz, Eugene Horowitz, in their never-ending cycle of mischief. Eugene himself was sitting in the back, which was designed as the "geek section," his arm in a sling. Sitting with him was Sheena, a gentle, soft-spoken girl with New Age leanings. Near them was Brainy, who was always so deadly quiet except for his nasally, Darth Vader-like breathing. In spite of his intelligent reputation, when he did speak, it was only to stutter. Thaddeus "Curly" Gammelthorpe, the "kid most likely to snap," was fiddling with something, but I couldn't tell what it was because he was too far back. From the way he was maniacally laughing to himself, I knew it couldn't be good.

Then there was Lila Sawyer. It was no secret that I'd had a crush on her for a long time. _How could anyone not admire her? I thought dreamily, watching her as she talked to a blonde girl named Gloria. She was absolutely perfect: charming, kind, pretty, and witty. Everyone loved her. The only problem was that she didn't like me back. It was a bitter pill to swallow when I considered the reality of the situation, especially when I couldn't understand why she wouldn't go out with me. We shared many interests and a mutual respect for each other. Why couldn't Lila see that those things were an excellent basis for a relationship?_

"Hey, Arnold!" Gerald hissed in my ear, breaking my train of thought.

"Huh?" 

"Pick a seat, Romeo!" Gerald ordered slyly, wiggling his bushy eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion.

I became dimly aware of the moving motion of the bus and the stares and comments I was getting from everyone, including Lila. My face flaming like a bed of hot coals, I slouched down into the nearest seat. Gerald slid it next to me.

"At last, a moment alone without Timberly!" Gerald enthused, stretching his long legs out his front of him. He jerked his thumb in front of him toward his sister and her friend Tisha. "Hopefully, they'll be too busy giggling about Wally to bug us anymore."

"Gerald, didn't Timberly quit with the Wally business when she was younger?" 

Gerald scoffed. "Please, Arnold, were we ever that bad when we were their age?"

That brought back a flood of memories of us in the fourth grade. Indeed, plenty of them were crazy and wonderful, each in their own way a stepping stone toward the ever growing childhood experience. A particularly outrageous episode during the summer after fourth grade surfaced to mind. Gerald and I had managed to save our neighborhood from the wreaking ball, a feat that couldn't be claimed by many adults, much less mere kids. Nevertheless, we hadn't been alone in our labors; without the help of an unlikely person, we couldn't have succeeded. She did this unselfishly, just for my sake… 

Blinking the recollection away, I forced myself to smile at my best friend. "Do you seriously want me to answer that question?" 

"You've made a valid point," Gerald granted, holding his hands up as if to admit defeat.

"Now, Gerald, what was Timberly talking about earlier?" I inquired, changing the subject.

"Ah, the afro business," Gerald began. I couldn't help noticing that he lowered his voice as he glanced cautiously at his sister. "I can't tell you now. Let's just say Timberly only told you half of the story, and I don't want her knowing the rest. How about we do it at lunch in the library?"

"All right," I agreed after a moment of silence. At that second, the school loomed in the distance, and I found myself wondering what could bothering my friend so much.


	5. Helga: A Little Truth

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: I've noticed that not a whole lot of people touch on the subject of Helga's confession in the _Hey _****_Arnold_****_! _movie. Basically, this is what gave me the idea for this story. Anyhow, this is where the action really gets started, because this is where I deal with the current situation between Helga and Arnold (finally, an H/A moment!). I wanted to get to this moment earlier in the story, but I found that the flow of the story fit better if I put this off a little bit. It's longer than my usual length, but I hope it'll be better that way. Things should get started now, and loose threads that I created in the initial chapters will mostly be tied up in coming ones. By the way, I dedicate this chapter to the movie and my favorite episode, "Married." Enjoy and keep on reviewing.**

**Helga: A Little Truth **

**_A little paint, to cover what's deep inside_**

**_A little truth we all want to hide..._**

**_The Calling, "Just That Good"_**

May 2001

"What's up, doc?" I greeted dryly, breezing into the conference room at P.S. 118.

Once a month, Dr. Bliss came here to talk to her selected head cases. As soon as I'd entered class, my teacher, Mrs. Skelter, had issued me the familiar pass, thereby making me first in line for her miraculous treatment. Since she assigned the order of her sessions arbitrarily, I didn't always have the honor of her presence this early in the day. However, with graduation next week, I could readily guess why I was in the first time slot.

Dr. Bliss looked up from the clipboard she'd been perusing. "Hello, to you, too, Helga," she retorted, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'm sorry to call you out of homeroom, but I deemed it especially important to see you first. This is going to be our last appointment together, after all."

_Some place to hold our farewell meeting, _I thought drearily. Due to Principal Wartz's constant crusade to slash and save on the school budget, the conference room was as stark as the rest of the school. Any frivolous decoration or adornment had to be provided by enterprising teachers or students. Still, the conference room's whitewashed walls, tiled floors, and sturdy oak furniture did serve its multipurpose goal well.

"No problem," I briskly assured Dr. Bliss, sinking into a chair across from her. "I'd rather be here than stuck listening to Wartz's verbose morning address over the P.A."

No, I wasn't worried about Dr. Bliss ratting me out to the principal. She wasn't fazed by my flippant behavior like most people were. It had to be a given in her line of work, of course, yet she reminded me of Phoebe in one respect. Both of them were part of a rare breed that could take on my blows and even return them effectively enough to keep me on my toes.

You see, lurking beneath the cool, professional image projected by her trim, bobbed hair and tailored suits was a brilliant woman of inventive, unorthodox ways. In fact, it was precisely for this reason why I entrusted her with my deepest, darkest secret. A small part of me, though, hated her for worming it out of me. Believe me, if you didn't keep your guard up, Dr. Bliss was one of those people who could compel you into almost anything.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Dr. Bliss stoically suggested, accordingly ignoring my Wartz comment. Then again, she knew what a joke Wartz was, but she never revealed her opinion of him, much less of anyone else. Her lack of condemnation both impressed and frustrated me. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to discuss?"

Actually, there was something pressing on my mind. Whether or not I could manage to open my mouth and mention it was another thing. I'd never been eloquent about my feelings (and why start now?), especially on the matter that had perturbed me lately. For several years, I'd warded of the disturbing chill of one memory by bundling myself in the warmer, more pleasant layers of other recollections. Now the experience I'd kept from everyone was resurfacing again, brought on by the sweeping tide of changes around the corner...

"Helga?"

"Huh?" I realized that I had been stupidly staring off into space.

"What is it, Helga?" Dr. Bliss questioned gently, her face full of concern.

_Come on, Helga, what's safe to rag on?_ I asked myself, wracking my brain for ideas. _Hey, bashing my parents is always fun._

"Well, you know, Bob's a blowhard," I began, slamming Old Betsy open-handedly on the table. "I believe he has a new partner at the Beeper Emporium. The funny thing is that I don't know who it is yet, because he's been acting so secretive about it. I can't say that I blame him. Ever since that deal with Future Tech blew over, he's had a hard time trusting anyone not to screw him over. At any rate, if I don't have a clue about who he's doing business with, Miriam certainly wouldn't, right? Speaking of which, she's faring just as well as Big Bob. Yep, drinking herself into a stupor..."

Dr. Bliss let me ramble on like that for a while. Every once in a while, she noted something on that clipboard of hers, not interrupting at all. For a child psychologist, it never ceased to amaze me at how quiet she could be. I hoped that wasn't something she and Curly, the local resident nut job, shared in common. 

Eventually I ran out of steam on my self-righteous ride of rage. At a loss for words, which was a rare occurrence, I assure you, for I was a formidable opponent when in top form, I nervously glanced at the wall clock. It was a little after nine o'clock. Homeroom was already long over, and my class would currently be in the middle of pre-algebra class.

Scraping the chair back from the table, I hopped out of it. "I guess I'll see you later, doc. I have some scintillating math exercises to catch up on-"

"Helga, don't go just yet. We could talk about a topic we haven't covered properly," Dr. Bliss declared. "Since you're graduating next week, what are your feelings on entering high school?"

That made me angry. "Why do you always have to ask so many damn questions?" I snapped irritably.

She shrugged indifferently. "Fine, if you have any burning inquires for me, fire away."

I was slightly surprised at her passiveness, so I plunged on ahead, allowing my boorish temper to take over. "All right, doc, why did you _really_ call me in here first thing?" I interrogated. 

"I wanted to resolve anything that possibly hasn't been dealt with before you left here permanently." 

_ Like the high school issue I've been avoiding all year? _I thought, scowling. I could easily imagine that she especially enjoyed dissecting my brain. To her, I must've been a psychologist's dream come true. 

"I bet some psychologist book gave you that neat turn of phrase." 

"No," Dr. Bliss replied earnestly, "I honestly care about your well-being."

"Save it, doc." I waved my hand dismissively. "Can't you leave me alone for once? You already know enough about me. I've been on pins and needles for years trying to get you off my back."

Dr. Bliss smiled at me in her sad way. "Everyone needs to be noticed, Helga, even you. Otherwise, life would be terribly lonely."

I started at that. The familiar words she'd uttered drew me back into the warp of time to my first session with her. Suddenly I realized how irrational I'd always been to her. Usually I could mask my isolation with some well-placed insults and tactical evasion, and no one would be the wiser. Oh, sure, Phoebe and even Arnold had taken some time peer occasionally through my facade, but it wasn't to the extent Dr. Bliss did. Nothing, and I mean, nothing, slipped past that woman. If she had to drag anything out of me kicking and screaming, she would still get the job done.

_ Go ahead,_ a voice in my head urged._ She's about the only one with whom you feel remotely comfortable about divulging anything concerning __Arnold__. It's the last chance you'll have to do it..._

My shoulders slumped in submission. "I've never told anyone about this," I whispered. 

"Is it Arnold?" she probed softly. 

"Isn't it always him?" I laughed bitterly. "And the horrible fact is that he knows it."

When Dr. Bliss' normally serene face contorted in astonishment, I almost wished I had dropped the bomb on her earlier. It was kind of satisfying to shock a hardened psychologist. Nevertheless, she was swift to recover her cool. _It was too good to last, I guess, _I thought wryly.

"I see," Dr. Bliss belatedly remarked in her carefully even voice. "When did you reveal your feelings to Arnold?"

"A long time ago, on the Fourth of July, if I'm not mistaken, the summer after fourth grade..." 

_How odd, _I thought, pausing for a moment. _It's simultaneously liberating and restricting to be disclosing my last true secret to someone else._

My tongue felt as dry as sandpaper and as rooted to the roof of my mouth as a tree in the ground, but I forced myself to continue. "I uncovered the whole dirty scheme that Scheck brewed to cover up the fact our neighborhood was a national historic landmark so that he could build his mall...I don't need to rehash those details. You had a newspaper; you followed it, I'm sure."

Dr. Bliss simply nodded.

"The point is that Arnold wanted to save the neighborhood, and I could supply him with the means to accomplish that goal...so I did it."

"How did you do it?" Dr. Bliss questioned as a ghost of a smile flickered across her face. 

We exchanged knowing looks. Like I'd ever do anything as simple as just telling him what I knew. 

"I disguised myself as the mysterious entity known as Deep Voice," I responded, shaking my head at the memory in my mind. "Basically, I borrowed my dad's voice box, trench coat, and hat to follow Arnold and Gerald around on their little quest, making calls to direct them whenever it was necessary." My jaw tensed achingly. "I didn't count on that yellow-haired shrimp finding me out or being so persistent into ascertaining the truth behind my actions."

"Arnold is quite effective when he wants to be," Dr. Bliss agreed.. There was that stupid smile on her face again, as if she were laughing at a joke which only she could perceive. "He just goes about it in a less conspicuous manner than you do. You and he are more alike than you know, Helga."

_Yes, he and I are similar in some ways, _I conceded ruefully, amazed at Dr. Bliss' uncharacteristic speculation. _The only problem is that we'd rather be oblivious to that fact than admit to it._

"I still can't believe I poured out my heart to him," I muttered incredulously. "Why I did it, I don't know, or why he couldn't leave things alone. I mean, wasn't it enough for him that I helped him?" My gray-blue eyes blazing with an icy fury, I banged my fists on the table with a resounding crash. "No, he had to force me into making a swooning fool of myself!"

"Helga..." Dr. Bliss' gentle voice brought me down a few notches toward sanity.

"All right, all right, don't send me to the funny farm just yet!" I exclaimed. 

Dr. Bliss smiled encouragingly. "Go ahead," she urged soothingly.

Sighing heavily, I pushed on in my narrative. "It was bad move, pure and simple. I can see now that Arnold was totally repulsed by my confession, even if I was acting too much like a dizzy loon then to notice it. At least Arnold later gave me the chance to take it back as if it had never happened. I think he likes it better that way. We're in our safe, comfortable roles of bully and victim." By this point, my voice had dropped to a whisper. "Frankly, I prefer it that way, too."

She silently studied me for a few minutes, evidently contemplating her next choice of words carefully. Finally Dr. Bliss asked, "What are you going to do now that high school is around the bend? You two aren't exactly children anymore. Everything will change, and you must be aware of that."

"You always hit the nail right on the head, don't you, doc?" I sarcastically remarked.

Inside, though, I was shaking. My biggest dilemma was the division I'd purposely created in myself. On the one hand, I was the terror of P.S. 118, and on the other, I was this soft-hearted girl who wanted to show that side to the world. One was visibly apparent to the world_, _the other a tightly guarded secret. How could I ever hope to unit the two, especially when I'd have to give up a part of myself that I didn't want to forego? I was the eternal paradox, and it seemed like I always had to remain that way.

_What in hell am I going to do?_ I wondered forlornly.

_*************************************************************************************_

A few minutes later, I was walking outside the conference room back to class. I was pondering the session I'd just had with Dr. Bliss, not really paying attention to what was in front of me. As I rounded a corner, I bumped into something warm and soft that propelled me to the ground.

Angry, I sat up and started to yell, "Watch where you're going..."

My voice trailed off. The person who'd knocked me over was...Arnold.

**Author's Note: Sorry if this seems like a cliffhanger. I just thought it would be convenient to cut it off here so that ****Arnold**** could take over for this scene. What does he think of Helga? I'll let you know next chapter!**


	6. Arnold: Nothing That You Seem

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: No, I don't think that ****Arnold**** was repulsed by Helga's confession. Remember, that was Helga's side of the story. This chapter will deal with how ****Arnold**** dealt with it and why he had her take it back. Frankly, it was kind of hard to write. I had some idea of what I wanted to include, but I wasn't exactly sure how to go about it. Please let me know if I was accurate in my portrayal. Sorry if it's a little long. Because of a huge psychology paper (yes, I take psychology), I'm only going to be able to update about once a week for a while, and I'm not even sure what day of the week it'll be, so keep checking everyday for updates. Enjoy and keep on reviewing!**

**Arnold****: Nothing That You Seem**

**_You always make a scene_**

**_You're monochrome delirious_**

**_You're nothing that you seem..._**

**_Goo_****_ Goo Dolls, "Dizzy"_**

May 2001

_What a way to spend the morning! _I thought, sighing heavily as I trudged through the halls of P.S. 118.

Mrs. Skelter, my teacher, was being particularly ruthless this morning. Not content with merely leaving us eighth graders in peace for the rest of the year, she'd launched yet another one of her infamous campaigns of flurried activity immediately following homeroom. Expertly weaving both sweet persuasion and firm commandeering into her routine, she'd already managed to steer us through a pop quiz in pre-algebra and an expository paper assignment in English.

The expository paper was less disastrous for me than the pop quiz (I was never very good at math). Mrs. Skelter divvied us up into pairs, doled out the topics, and herded the class into the library so that we could start preliminary research. My partner was Rhonda Lloyd, who wasn't especially helpful today. She was too engrossed in preparations for her upcoming graduation bash to lend much of a hand in finding information on Romanticism. That party, which had been announced only this morning, was already the highlight of all the school's gossip mills, so everyone's minds were pretty much occupied elsewhere. At any rate, I tried not to let the distractions hamper my work on a subject matter that I had discovered myself to be genuinely interested in.

Unfortunately, I'd forgotten all my books and notes on Romanticism in the library. Mrs. Skelter was kind enough to issue me a pass to retrieve them, which I did quickly enough. However, I decided to dawdle on the way back, for I was preoccupied with something else other than the physical science project that awaited me. 

Gerald's hushed command to meet him at lunch in the library echoed through my mind. _What could possibly be bothering him? _I wondered. _Was it trouble at home?_

That probably wasn't far from the truth. Both Mr. and Mrs. Johanssen worked full-time for a combined income that was a bit meager when stretched over three children. This was a constant source of worry for Mr. Johanssen, who constantly heckled his offspring to take preventative measures toward saving money. In fact, Jamie O., Gerald's older brother, couldn't have gone to college with the athletic scholarship he'd won three years ago to the University of Washington.

As a result, in spite of being only fourteen years old, it was necessary for Gerald to carry his own weight in the household. Since his parents were gone so much, he shouldered the burden of watching out for Timberly, which originally had been Jamie O.'s responsibility. He also worked after school with me in Mrs. Vitello's flower shop for extra spending money, a job we'd held down for almost five years now. Most of the time, Gerald took his duties in stride, but sometimes he would confide in me if things were especially bad. Maybe this was one of those instances...

My musings were interrupted when I circled a corner and banged into someone, knocking the air out of both our lungs. As my feet flew out from under me, my notebook and all three of my heavy, thick books escaped my grasp, landing with loud, unceremonious _whaps _on the concrete floor. Papers stuffed inside the notebook wrenched free and swirled around me in a dizzying white cloud.

Dazed, I remained on the ground for a moment to orient myself. That was when I heard the familiar harsh voice grate out, "Watch where you're going..." And then it stopped just like that.

I raised myself to meet Helga Pataki's startled gaze. Her thin body laid prostrate on the floor.

Instantly my helper instinct kicked in. "Sorry about that, Helga," I apologized, scrambling up into a standing position and stretching my hand out to her.

For a second, Helga stared wide-eyed at my hand as if she were actually going to take it. Then her blue-gray eyes hardened to a chilly frost. "Don't worry about me, Arnoldo," she spat nastily, clambering upright without my offered support. She towered above me as she jabbed me in the chest with a forefinger. "I don't need the services of a knight in shining armor who can't keep his own klutzy ass from wiping out on the floor."

_Why do I even mess with her?_ I angrily asked myself for what must've been the millionth time in the eleven years I'd known her.

Officially known as a notorious bully, Helga milked the reputation for all it was worth. Sure, the methods of torture varied over the years, but the intent remained the same. She absolutely reveled in causing endless misery toward those around her, especially me, and I couldn't comprehend the reason for such senseless antagonism.

It was this enigmatic quality about her that oddly kind of drew me to her. From the very beginning, I'd sensed another side to her, one that belied her barrage of insults and threats of physical harm. However, she refused to acknowledge the existence of any such basic decency. That both frustrated and baffled me.

I was convinced that she pushed people around because of a deep-seated insecurity in herself. Considering the home environment she came from, I wasn't all that surprised. Her father was a selfish, blustery man who often mistook Helga for his older daughter, Olga. Mrs. Pataki wasn't much better. Although she didn't yell at Helga like Mr. Pataki would, she tended to be kind of depressed and forgetful. Olga herself, the golden daughter, meant well, yet even she didn't appear to notice how much of her parents' attention she detracted from her sister. Consequently, Helga was angry and suspicious of the world, ready to lash out at anyone who dared to venture too close.

"Whatever, Helga," I sighed, kneeling down to begin sorting out the mess on the floor.

"What are you wandering out here for, anyway?" Helga demanded over my shoulder.

"We have another English paper to write," I replied more out of duty than of a real interest to initiate conversation with Helga. "I forgot my books in the library and had to go back to get them."

Suddenly Helga dropped down next to me. "Romanticism, huh?" she remarked wryly as she handed a book to me.

Eyeing her warily, I asked skeptically, "Are you actually helping me pick my stuff up?" 

Helga shrugged. "If I know Mrs. Skelter, she has a topic and partner lined up for me just as boring as what you have. I'd rather keep her waiting a few more minutes, if it's all the same to you, football head." 

I cringed at that. Out of all the names Helga called me, I disliked "football head" the most. It was like her personal torture device for me. 

Unfortunately, she noticed my grimace. "I'm sorry, _Arnold__,_" she mocked, sarcastically placing emphasis on my name. "I didn't realize you were so sensitive about your _football head_!"

_I'm not going to fall for it, Helga, _I silently told her. _I won't stoop to your level._

Still, if I had to go back to class with Helga, I was determined to be decent to her, even if she didn't return the favor. It was either that or ignore her, and the latter didn't appear to be much of an option.

So I blurted out the first seemingly conversational thing that came to mind. "How was your session with Dr. Bliss?"

Almost immediately I regretted those words. Everyone knew about Helga's monthly visits to the school psychologists, and it was just another reason for people to make fun of her. It was even more humiliating for her when you considered the fact that Curly was the only one else out of our class who were required to see Dr. Bliss as well. Therefore, Old Betsy had to put in overtime after every appointment.

However, from the way Helga's pale face grew even more ashen, claming me as her first casualty of the day seemed to be far from her mind. _I wonder what she talked to Dr. Bliss about? _I thought. I quickly took this back as I flushed slightly at an image that slipped unbidden into my consciousness.

Meanwhile, Helga's steely gaze had made its triumphant comeback. "Unless you want to wake up tomorrow in a body cast, bucko, don't ever mention that shrink in my presence," she threatened, slamming the rest of my books into my hands.

_Talk about putting my foot in my mouth, _I scolded myself ruefully.

Cramming the stack of papers I'd collected into my notebook, I hurried after Helga, who was already stalking off. When I caught up to her, she whirled around to confront me.

"I didn't say you could walk with me, pal!" Helga thundered.

I didn't blink. "Come on, Helga, it's not like we're going to separate places. We both have to head back to class," I reasoned smoothly.

Even Helga couldn't argue with that logic. She spun away from me, not bothering to look at behind her as she snapped, "Don't slow me down, football head!"

We began our trek, lapsing into a stiff, uncomfortable silence. The tension was so palpable that I couldn't stand it for long.

"You know, Helga," I ventured tentatively, "Romanticism isn't as bad as you think. Many of the qualities in the movement remind me of the writing style employed by my favorite author, Agatha Caulfield." 

Helga kept staring straight ahead. "I guess that kind of bullshit would appeal to you."

"Excuse me?"

"Emotional, sappy junk that was cranked out by idiots like Byron or Wordsworth isn't my idea of a good read," she clarified, snorting derisively. 

I started at that. Despite the negative tone of her statement, Helga had just uttered an opinion on a subject I had no clue she knew anything about. Most of the time, if she wasn't trying to make anyone else's life a living hell, the only other thing she'd spout out was trite facts about the wrestlers she admired. 

"I'm surprised that you already know something about Romanticism. You probably should have been given the topic instead of Rhonda and me. At least you would've liked it better than the one you do have."

Her trademark unibrow (she'd never gotten rid of it for some reason) arched suspiciously at my comments. "_Please_. I don't know jack about Romanticism. Phoebe must be rubbing off me too much again. I'll leave the Agatha Caulfield daydreaming mumbo-jumbo to you and the princess, Arnoldo. You're so good at that, anyway." 

_Am I suppose to take that as a compliment? _I thought incredulously. 

"With my luck, I probably ended up with a real humdinger," she continued, letting the words roll out fast and furious.

"You're working with Lorenzo on realism," I informed her dryly.

"Yep, just as I suspected. The perfect combination."

I had to admit that Helga was partially right. Lorenzo was from a rich family who liked to follow rigid lifestyles. Although he'd loosened up over the years, he was still fairly uptight. Anything dealing with concrete ideas like the literary style realism implied was sure to interest Lorenzo.

_ Helga's pretty perceptive sometimes,_ I conceded, chuckling at the memory of Lorenzo busily gathering information by himself earlier that day in the library.

"What's so funny, football head?" Helga demanded, scowling_. _

Forcing myself to make a straight face, I lied, "Nothing."

By this time, we'd arrived at our classroom. Tossing one more dirty look my way, she threw open the door without any hesitation. _Well, Helga was always one to make her presence known, _I noted wryly.

Everyone's attention was riveted to us. Some whispered and giggled while others simply stared blankly at us. I searched for Gerald in the sea of faces. He was studying me with a mixture of mild curiosity and surprise.

Mrs. Skelter had been scrawling something on the board, but our entrance disrupted that. She faced us, her hands on her amble hips.

"Arnold, Helga, you grace us with your presence," our teacher remarked with a faint hint of sarcasm.

That couldn't be good. Were we gone that long?

Helga strolled up to Mrs. Skelter with a confidence I didn't possess at that moment. "Here's my pass," she announced in a totally fake sweet voice as she handed the slip of paper to our teacher.

Our class snickered at that. If Helga could've gotten away with it, I'm certain she would've started swinging Old Betsy on the spot to the callous offenders. As it was, she had to settle on glaring at them.

Somehow I found my voice. "Here's mine as well, Mrs. Skelter." 

She examined my pass briefly, switching to my face for good measure, I guess. "Helga, Arnold, please take your seats," Mrs. Skelter commanded, gesturing to the rows of sixteen desks. "We were discussing the composition of the earth."

_This must be my lucky day, after all, _I thought in relief as we headed toward the back.

Gerald, who was next to me, must've read my mind. "Man, Arnold, you got a break from Mrs. Skelter," he whispered to me as I plopped down in my chair.

"Yeah, it reminds me of why I had a crush on her back when she was Miss Felter," I replied, smiling. 

"Yeah, it's too bad she had the twins a year ago, or else she'd still be pretty cute." 

"Gerald..."

He grinned sheepishly, shrugged, and bent back over his physical science book.

As Mrs. Skelter droned on about "the composition of the earth," I spied Lila speaking in hushed tones to Rhonda. She happened to look in my direction when I gazed at her, and I almost lost myself in the depths of her sparkling green eyes. Frowning slightly, Lila shook her head away from me, drawing a curtain of long auburn hair like a veil over her face. 

Suddenly I felt an object pelt me in the back of my head. Glancing at the floor next to me, I spotted a glob of damp, crumpled up paper at my feet. Instantly I knew who'd thrown the spit wad.

When I glared at Helga only two desks over the left, she stared back as if I had done something wrong to_ her_. "What, what?" she hissed loudly.

My best friend noticed the exchange between us. "God, what is that girl's _problem_?" he murmured.

That was Helga's specialty. She always kept you guessing, just like she had done to me for all the years I'd known her...

************************************************************************************

As I have mentioned before, Helga always picked on me in particular. Since I hadn't done anything wrong to her that I could ever recall, I couldn't understand why she acted this way. In fact, I even tried to be her friend. She seemed so lonely and sad for a strong-willed, nasty bully, especially when you considered her home life. Sometimes Helga was nice and caring like I knew deep down she was, especially to her best friend, Phoebe, or even to me, although this was in extremely rare, fleeting moments, to say the least. Nevertheless, she still persisted in her hateful behavior, so I stayed out of her way for the most part.

Grandpa had first hinted at a possible explanation. I'd gotten into trouble at school for retaliating back at Helga after she'd glued feathers to the seat of my pants and spilled paint on my shirt. Naturally, Grandpa was shocked at my behavior, since I usually alternated between either ignoring her or reasoning with her, which was never quite as successful as I would've liked. Yet what else could I do to get a person who so clearly hated me off my back? In response to my question, Grandpa told me of a girl named Gerty who'd tormented him as a kid in much the same way Helga did to me. Ironically, Gerty turned out to be Grandma! I didn't find this out until later, but what Grandpa did hypothesize when I heard the story the first time was that Helga did all the mean things to me because she had a _crush_ on me! Laughing at the absurdity of that, I disregarded the notion that Helga had any good thoughts of me except the ones in which she could hurt me. 

At least I believed I had the last laugh until the summer after fourth grade. She'd aided Gerald and me in our desperate bid to save the neighborhood from being demolished by inventing some crazy secret identity known as Deep Voice. My shock and bewilderment at discovering Helga, the biggest bully of P.S. 118, doing something that was too weird and coincidental to overlook, pushed me over the top. Like an all-consuming desire, I _had_ to find out why she'd stuck her neck out for a cause that wasn't going to benefit her. After all, Helga had said herself that she was going to get rich off the Future Tech deal because of a new Beeper Emporium Scheck was letting her father build. Even before Future Tech had arrived on the scene, Good Samaritan deeds weren't exactly part of Helga's repertoire.

So imagine how completely and utterly I freaked when she burst out about harboring a secret love for me all these years! On top of that, before my mind could register the enormity of the revelation, she managed to sneak a kiss in as well! However, because Scheck's crooked scheme still had to be revealed, I forced us back into the moment.

Later, after everything had winded down, Helga's confession confronted us again, waiting to be resolved. I still didn't know what to think of her. Helga had seriously complicated things between us. Plus, I was having a really hard time peering past her bully persona and comprehend the concept that she cared for me in such a personal way.

As for Helga, she was blinking and stammering as if she were waking from a dream. She was clearly too embarrassed to talk to me about anything, much less this. To be honest, so was I. Therefore, we both agreed that everything had happened in the heat of the moment and left it at that.

Over the following years, we drifted apart even further apart. Perhaps it was the confession that precipitated this. I'm not sure. All I know is that Helga and I were distant toward each except when we had to do projects together for school or things like that. Sometimes I would think of the memory and wonder if it was indeed true. We did seem to have some sort of strange connection. Nonetheless, she baffled me more than anything else, and after all these years, I was no closer to an answer as to where she stood with me. 


	7. Helga: The Life That's Mine

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: Whew! I'm glad I got through the last chapter. That was probably the one that could've made or broken this story. Thanks to everyone so far who's reviewed my story! Now I'll move on to other matters. I have a plot twist for you. Originally I hadn't planned for my story to be as long as I now know it's going to be, but when this idea came to me, I knew I had to include it. I'll let you guys decide if it's a keeper, and we'll see where it goes from there. Enjoy and keep on reviewing! **

**Helga: The Life That's Mine**

**_I can't seem to tame my mind_**

**_Slings and arrows are killing me inside_**

**_Maybe I can't accept the life that's mine_**

**_No I can't accept the life's that's mine_**

**_Creed, "Weathered"_**

May 2001

"Helga?" Phoebe gently tugged at the sleeve of my red-and-white striped shirt.

Recoiling at the contact, I snapped, "Get me a chocolate milk with a bendy straw!"

Phoebe stared at me as if I had suddenly grown two heads. "Helga, there's already one of your tray," she pointed out, "and you haven't touched anything on it yet, much less your drink."

I didn't bother looking down to confirm her observation; I knew she was right. According to a quick check of the wall clock in the crowded cafeteria, lunch was halfway over, and I hadn't made a dent in my meal. Considering my somewhat piggish eating habits, Phoebe must've been quite perturbed by my obvious disinterest in today's masterpiece, which actually wasn't too bad if the lunch ladies used ingredients dated from this year.

In my mind, I kept replaying Dr. Bliss' most disturbing question of the session: "What are you going to do now that high school is around the bend?"

My response? After much hemming and hawing, I gave what was probably the lousiest, albeit truthful, come-back of my life: "I honestly don't know."

Her advice for such cluelessness? While she studied me as if I were a specimen under a microscope, the following was issued: "Search within yourself, Helga. There is much more to you than you know."

What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean? I swear, sometimes I was as dense as Harold Berman. 

Or maybe Dr. Bliss was into deliberately handing out obscure counsel to her patients. I didn't think that was very responsible of her. By warping her words around any which way their little fancies desired, who knew what Dr. Bliss' nut cases would get themselves mixed up in?

_Maybe I'm just making up excuses for myself, I thought ruefully, conjuring up images of my horrible treatment to Arnold this morning in the halls. Then again, what else was he to expect? We were enemies, not friends._

The feeble argument didn't lift my doleful spirits a notch. Nor did it cast off the stench of blame that the despicable actions had induced.

Of course, I couldn't reveal any of these ponderings to Phoebe. As much as I appreciated Phoebe sticking with me through all the crazy shit I'd ever subjected her to, this particular topic was strictly off-limits for obvious reasons.

"Yeah, well, how do you know I don't want another milk?" I demanded irritably. It sounded lame even to me, but I couldn't very well take back what I'd said.

Phoebe's brow furrowed deeply in confusion. "Are you sure?" Her tone seemed to add, "Isn't there something you'd like to tell me?"

Flinging a few coins from my jeans pocket on the table, I waved to the deserted lunch line. "Hop to it, Phoebs, I'm starving!" I ordered firmly, leaving no room for her to negotiate with me.

"Hurrying," Phoebe chirped, glancing at me with uncertainty before she scooted off on her errand."

_She'll get over it, I thought as I turned my attention to the tray before me._

Unfortunately, the unappetizing spaghetti settled as heavily as a stone upon my already twisted knot of a stomach. Abandoning this entrée after only a few tentative bites, I focused on my side dishes of tapioca pudding and chocolate milk.

As I munched on my food, I let my eyes travel absently over the rest of the cafeteria. The room was spacious enough to accommodate the dozens of students sitting in blue chairs set around matching circular Formica tables. Sunlight filtered in from several windows opening onto the crowded playground, scattering into kaleidoscopic patterns on the peach tiled floor. I was tempted to hypnotize myself by following those shapes in an elusive game of cat-and-mouse. Better yet, I could probably stare myself off into temporary oblivion.

_Wait a second,_ a voice in my head abruptly thundered, which instantly cleared my brain out of the mental fog I was in. _Arnold_'s gone! That's_ _strange_. _He was here just now. Where could he be?__

Phoebe chose this exact moment to return to our table. I couldn't hide the fierceness of my inner turmoil from her probing eyes.

"He's probably in the library with Gerald," she informed me, carefully placing the second chocolate milk in front of me. "I noticed them going in that direction when I was fetching your beverage."

_I'm not stupid, Phoebe. You won't trap me like Dr. Bliss did, I silently told her, although I was bursting with curiosity to find out why Arnold had slipped off._

I stabbed my straw into the chocolate milk pint and drank the thick liquid deeply. "I don't know who you mean, Phoebs."

My best friend eyed me thoughtfully, appearing to contemplate something. She must've thought better of it, though, for she took her place across from me again without a word.

"You know, Phoebs, it's nice to get lunch money from Bob once in a while," I commented flatly, switching subjects. "I hate having to forage through the kitchen in order to scrape up a barely passing meal courtesy of Miriam."

"Is your mother…occupied today?" Phoebe inquired hesitantly after a moment of silence. Like Arnold, she also knew about my neglectful parents.

"Oh, yeah," I spouted bitterly. "On my way out this morning, I spotted a dirty blender and four equally disgusting mugs stacked in the kitchen sink. They all reeked like the rum she has stashed in the sideboard in the dining room." 

Phoebe looked appropriately crestfallen for me. Suddenly she brightened considerably, exclaiming in a quiet yet animated voice, "How about coming with me directly after school to shop for a new outfit to wear to Rhonda's party? I'm certain Mrs. Pataki wouldn't mind."

_Not in her present state, she shouldn't, I thought dryly. _I doubt she'd notice the fact that I was gone if I hung out with Phoebe for a couple of hours doing a dumb girly activity, which reminds me. Phoebe never invites me along on junk like that unless…__

I raised my eyes from my milk carton to meet hers. They were shining with a telltale brilliancy of their own, providing me with the answer to my silent question. _I guess I'm not the only one here who was in her own little world, _I noted in faint amusement.

"I'm surprised at you, Phoebe," I admonished my best friend in a mock scolding tone. "Given your disposition, I wouldn't have expected you to be so quick about getting a date with Geraldo. It was only this morning that you were trying to plant the idea in _my_ head. Now lunch period hits and you're already planning to buy the perfect ensemble? Criminy, Phoebe!" I cocked my unibrow at her mischievously. "Or am I wrong? Did you actually go about it in your characteristic subtle fashion that tall hair boy seems so fond of?"

"Didn't I tell you? Gerald and I are working on the English paper together," she revealed as if it were an afterthought, but I knew better. For someone as reserved as Phoebe was, even she was prone to a coyness streak once in a while. "It was an excellent opportunity to deploy a strategic strike."

"I see." Her choice of words made it hard for me to keep a straight face.

Phoebe fixed her eyes on me in a steadfast gaze. "Perhaps I could use my tactical skills to arrange…"

Although she let her voice trail off before completing the sentence, I had no trouble comprehending what she meant. My heart thumped longingly at the possibility of a date with Arnold. 

Nevertheless, I swallowed the yearning down into a dim corner of my brain as I furiously realized how cunning and audacious Phoebe had been to rope me along this far. If there was anything I hated with a passion, it was being played like a fiddle into some other stooge's hands. _No one _was going to control Helga G. Pataki, not even Phoebe! 

"There's no way in hell I'm doing that!" I refused heatedly.

I had expected my outburst to attract the unwanted attention of those around us. Chagrined, I was prepared to glare down the intrusive onlookers. Luckily, the few who did glance at me lost interest in me quickly and turned back to their own boring conversations as if I didn't exist.

Phoebe, though, didn't let me off the hook quite as easily. "Helga, your whole world revolves around him. You could at least talk to him," she persisted, an intent look in her eyes.

"I agreed to go the party on the condition that I stay far, far away from you-know-who," I whispered menacingly. "He and I agree much better when we're apart." 

The bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period.

I flashed a deadly smile at her. "By the way, I'm afraid I'm busy after school. I have to go tangle with my old man over something. His orders, not mine. You know how he is if I suddenly go missing when we're overdue for a screaming match."

That wasn't an exaggeration. Unlike my mother, I couldn't ignore my father so easily. He didn't pay much attention to me, but when he did bark, you _had to answer the call. This meant attending my doomsday appointment with him in the trophy room. Besides, I figured it couldn't be much more than some awful comparison tirade between me and Olga, who probably had sent home wonderful news of her Alaskan life in one of her monthly letters. _Nothing I haven't handled before_, I thought coldly._

"Helga-" Phoebe began.

"Hey, Phoebe." 

Gerald had materialized seemingly out of thin air, situating himself beside Phoebe. He smiled warmly down at her. To both my disappointment and relief, Arnold was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello, Gerald," Phoebe greeted, blushing slightly.

"Can I walk you back to class, Phoebe?" he requested, extending his arm in a gallant flourish. 

Phoebe glanced at me with uncertainty. Gerald's expression hardened when he noticed her looking in my direction. He _definitely _didn't want me along.

That was fine with me. It was an excellent opportunity to deploy a strategic strike of my own. I could smoothly escape this gagging spectacle. 

"See you back in class, Phoebs." I smirked at the two of them.

Toting my tray, I took off from the table and stalked over to the trash can, roughly dumping my leftovers inside. Without a second glance behind me, I headed back to our room.

The halls were swarming with noisy, rowdy students slowly navigating their way to their respective classrooms. I brusquely elbowed past many of them. Once or twice I heard a chorus of "bitch" or "jerk" or something else along that line from my unsuspecting victims. That didn't stop me. I replied with a retort just as biting as theirs, even shoving some of the kids for extra effect. I was the bane of P.S. 118's existence, and I faithfully played that role everyday.

It was a shame I was too depressed at that moment to enjoy it.

**************************************************************************************************************************

After school, I decided to walk home. I wanted to stall my impending confrontation with Dad for as long as possible, which I couldn't very well do if I took the bus.

I chose to plod the more circuitous route to my house by taking Vine Street past all the shops. Since I'd seen those little stores a million times in my life, I mostly kept my eyes ahead of me without really noticing them. Unfortunately, as I neared Mrs. Vitello's flower shop, I spied Arnold out in front. Although I knew he'd been working there forever, I hadn't expected to actually encounter him on my way by there. 

Arnold's compact yet lean frame was swathed in a white apron. He clutched a small watering can in one hand, bathing the outside floral display in a shower of water. 

Before I could fling myself into a darkened doorway out of view, Arnold happened to look up. Smiling slightly, he called out, "Hey, Helga."

Faced with his sparkling blue eyes, I felt almost intoxicated. Indeed, if the eyes were the window to the soul, I fervently hoped he couldn't tell what I was thinking. _Focus, Helga,_ I scolded myself, forcibly snapping out of my swooning state. 

"What do _you_ want, football head?" I demanded, adopting my trademark scowl. 

Arnold shrugged nonchalantly. "Just trying to be friendly."

_Friendly?_ I thought, shaking my head. _Arnold_, there are some things about you that never change.__

Then again, that was why I loved him so much.

"Look, it was nice chatting with you, but I've got things to do," I blurted out, abruptly becoming uncomfortable again.

As I started to walk off, though, Arnold seized my wrist in a loose grip. Startled, I met his eyes again, which were thoughtfully studying me. 

"What are you doing?" I gasped, wrenching myself out of his grasp. The contact was affecting me in a way I didn't like. 

"Helga, you know about Gerald and Phoebe going to Rhonda's party together, right?" he questioned intently.

"Doy, football head! Why would you ask me something stupid like that?"

_Arnold__ is sure acting weird, I noted. __At least weirder than usual. It better not be contagious._

Arnold sighed deeply. "There's more to it than you realize, Helga," he continued. "This is the first time they've agreed to an official date, even though we both know they've liked each other for years. That means they're going out now." 

"Okay," I said slowly, frowning. "What's your point?"

"Well…" He paused for a moment, nervously rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "I was wondering if we could try to get along better. For Phoebe and Gerald's sake, you know. We'll probably have to see a lot more of each other in high school because of this reason, and it'd be kind of bad if we couldn't stop fighting with each other."

At that moment, a light bulb went off in my head. I was searching for a way to resolve my differences with Arnold, and here it was practically handed to me on a silver platter! What was even more amazing was that he had made the connection before I did!

Still, I couldn't be too eager about the proposal. "We'll see, bucko," I snorted, but I softened that blow with a wry smirk. "Now do I have to get your permission to leave?"

Rolling his eyes, Arnold replied with a little smile of his own, "Whatever you say, Helga." He turned around and strode inside.

_Phoebe, in the future, leave the scheming to me, I thought triumphantly. _

*************************************************************************************************************************

When I arrived at my house, I opened the door quietly. I treaded the wooden floor of the foyer carefully, hoping to climb the stairs to my room unnoticed. 

No such luck. My father yelled out before I reached the bottom step, "In here, Helga!"

Moaning softly in exasperation, I flung my brown backpack off to the side and stormed into the trophy room at the end of the hall. Inside, the walls were entirely covered by shelves of the countless awards that my sister had won as a child. There was also an almost indistinguishable spot reserved for me whenever I obtained my own glory in something. My parents were still waiting, although they were evidently not doing so with any expectant enrapturement.

Dad was sitting on the couch in apparent discomfort, pulling at the stiffly starched collar of his shirt. _Why does he have his suit on this late in the day? _I wondered. _He hates wearing them._

I didn't bother speculating anymore on the matter. I wanted this farce of a meeting to be over as painlessly, and more importantly, swiftly as possible. 

Crossing my arms defiantly, I took on an offensive stance right away. "All right, Dad, what is it?"

"You better watch it, missy," Bob warned sternly, springing into an upright position. 

Looming over me, Bob was a powerfully built man. This fact couldn't be concealed even in the suit he was in. Nevertheless, years of dealing with the arrogant bastard had taught me how to stand my ground with him and everyone else. I wasn't the slightest bit intimidated.

He whipped out a folded piece of paper from a pocket inside his jacket. "Read this," he ordered gruffly, shoving it in my hands.

"Fine," I ground out through my teeth.

When I opened it, I nearly groaned aloud. I just knew it! It was Olga's most recent letter to us:

_May 11, 2001_

_Dear Mom, Dad, and Helga,_

_Well, the school year is almost over for me here in Umiat. It's so sad for me to think that I won't be able to see my pupils for the next three whole months! They really are the best four students a teacher can possibly have! Because we're getting such long hours of sunlight now, my class is organizing a __midnight__ baseball game as sort of a farewell activity of the school year. It's going to be the second year we've done it, and we're so excited about it. In addition, I am quite busy grading final papers and doing other odds and ends of that nature. _

_With the eminent arrival of summer, I'll be heading off to __Fairbanks__ as well. When I get there, I'll mail another letter letting you know what job I receive. The tourism in __Alaska__ is quite fickle, so I never know what job I'll end up with. Sometimes it's a pleasant surprise, sometimes it isn't. I'm sure you still remember the year I had to work as that bush pilot's assistant. That was some risky work going into uncharted wilderness with our customers! _

_Actually, the real focus of my letter is to make an offer I've been considering for some time. I would like Helga to come to __Alaska__ here for the summer. We haven't seen each other in almost five years now, and since I can't be there for her eighth grade graduation, it would be an especially appropriate time for a visit. I will warn her that I won't be able to give her the very best of circumstances. As you all already know, I have to work in the summer to supplement my meager teaching salary. We may not see each other frequently, and I will be renting a camping space as I always do to keep living expenses down. However, I can promise that Helga will have as meaningful experience here in __Alaska__ as I have had so far. Please think it about it carefully, Helga, and give me your reply. I'll be leaving for __Fairbanks__ on June 2._

_Love,_

_Olga_

As soon as I looked up from the letter, Bob thundered without hesitation, "You're going."

"What?" I was dumbfounded.

"You heard me." 

Immediately I skipped right past my astonishment straight into blind, cold anger. "No way," I challenged.

Bob's eyes bulged out, and a prominent blood vessel on his forehead throbbed, which clearly indicated he was as pissed as me. "Yes, you are, little lady, end of story!" he shouted.

At first I deliberated about dragging Miriam into this so that Bob would back down. Then I discarded that idea because my father probably already had her snowballed into having me go. My only other recourse was to ask the most obvious question relevant to the matter and see where it went.

"Why do I have to go to Alaska?" I questioned harshly.

"I can't take you to Dallas with me!" Bob exclaimed in a huffing rush. "I have business to do there all summer, and I'm taking Miriam with me. Now you know that Miriam sure as hell can't watch you. I needed someone else to do that, and Olga's offer conveniently came along."

I tried a different angle. "What about Grandma Geraldine in South Dakota?"

Dad scoffed. "My mother is not taking care of you! She's too old for that. You're too much for me as it is. How old are you now…twelve, thirteen?"

"Fourteen, Dad," I informed him dryly. "You saw it in Olga's letter yourself. I'm graduating from _eighth grade_ next week. Most people are fourteen when they reach that point." 

_Criminy__! _I thought. _Will he ever get it right?_

"Whatever. The point is that you're going to Alaska and having a good time," Bob told me. "How _much_ of a good time do you want?"

_God, he's attempting to bribe me again,_ I realized in disgust.

That was the final straw. I had to get out of here.

"Forget it," I spat. "I don't need any money."

With that, I turned on my heel and dashed out of the trophy room. My father called after me, "You're still going, Olga!"

His words echoed in my ears as I slammed the door to my room shut. 


	8. Arnold: Get Together

**Set Me Free**

** Author's Note: Well, I'm pleasantly surprised. I'm glad I got such a great response to my ideas in the last two chapters. Again, thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. Now I've thought long and hard about this chapter. I already had some tentative ideas for what was bothering Gerald, and I found it kind of difficult to write, since a lot of this will affect ****Arnold**** profoundly. A word to the wise: it's extremely long, at least longer than I'd planned, but I deemed all scenes necessary for this chapter. Please give me feedback on this chapter, as I will keep all suggestions and comments in mind. Anyway, enjoy and keep on reviewing!**

**Arnold****: Get Together**

**_So I'll say why don't you and I get together and take on the world and be together forever_**

**_Heads we will and tails we'll try again_**

**_So I'll say why don't you and I hold each other and fly to the moon and straight on to heaven… _**

**_Santana, "Why Don't You and I"_**

May 2001

"Aw, why do you fellers have to go?" Stinky Petersen drawled in his thick southern accent, holding up a model airplane. "We could try out my new glider plane on the playground."

Gerald glanced at me furtively. "Uh…we have something to do in the library," I replied quickly, hoping I wouldn't be pressed for any more details.

My luck was short-lived. Stinky's cohort, Sid, studied me dubiously as he echoed, "The library? What could you possibly do in the library during lunch?"

"Yeah, we were just there this morning," Stinky chimed in. His broad features scrunched up in distaste. "That English paper Mrs. Skelter gave us really bites!"

I shrugged helplessly at my best friend, who was tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. Instead of directly heading to the library as we'd planned, Sid and Stinky had waylaid us with a request to eat lunch with them in the cafeteria. Harold Berman, their usual companion, had gone to Slausen's with his sophomore girlfriend, Patty Smith, as he did every Monday. Since we did occasionally sit with Sid and Stinky at lunch, Gerald and I couldn't very well refuse their invitation without looking suspicious.

Sid's mud brown eyes suddenly twinkled mischievously from beneath his thick mop of dark hair. "I know why they're going to the library," he declared, nudging Stinky with his elbow. "I bet Arnold has to meet Helga there for some 'research'."

"What?" I felt my face flame up. 

_Great, I thought unhappily. _Sid and Stinky aren't going to let me live down the fact that I happened to walk into class with Helga Pataki today.__

"I reckon it must be true, Sid," Stinky crowed, "on account of Arnold's blushing."

Shaking my head, I briefly glanced at Helga, who was at a nearby table with Phoebe. "No way," I protested a bit louder than I had intended.

Sid's devious smile only widened. "So, Arnold, did Helga beat the tar out of you for being the first person she came across after her visit with the shrink? Or were you able to talk the psycho bitch out of it with your sunny optimism?"

Unable to restrain themselves any longer, Sid and Stinky launched into a fit of raucous laughter. Even Gerald, who had been silent the whole time, was smirking a little.

By this point, I was fed up with the whole ridiculous situation. Most of the time, Sid and Stinky were pretty fun to be around. Nevertheless, you had to watch out for their tendency to egg people on, especially if they could get Harold in on their act. Just like now with me, if they could grab a hold of anything remotely embarrassing about someone, they'd drive it into the ground as if there was no tomorrow.

"Look, we really have to go," I insisted dryly, trying not to let my exasperation show.

Gerald abruptly shot up from his chair. "Yeah, there's Phoebe now," he announced, picking up his tray.

I stared at Gerald in confusion. "Huh?"

_What is Gerald talking about? I wondered. _What's Phoebe got to do with us going to the library?__

He jerked his head toward Helga and Phoebe's table. "Arnold, don't you remember the _pointers_ Phoebe was going to give me on my part of the English paper?" 

Phoebe was indeed standing up as if to leave. Although I knew it probably wasn't for the English assignment tips Gerald mentioned, I didn't care about that particular detail at the moment. We'd been conveniently provided with a way to escape!

"Sure," I agreed eagerly, reaching for my tray as well.

"All right, if you fellers have to jaw on about that book-learning even during lunch," Stinky conceded disbelievingly, waving his model airplane practically under our noses, "but you don't know what you're missing!"

"Have a good time with Helga!" Sid called, chortling.

"I don't know what I ever saw in Helga," Stinky proclaimed in disgust as Gerald and I beat a hasty path to the massive black trash cans. "She's nowhere near as sweet as lemon pudding. Now, Gloria, I'm just plain smitten with her…"

I smiled at Stinky's remarks, remembering the brief crush Stinky had had on Helga in the fourth grade. Currently he was dating Gloria, one of Lila's friends, who was in the seventh grade. Strangely enough, Gloria kind of resembled Helga in appearance, if that was possible…

"Earth to Arnold!" Gerald hissed. 

Looking down, I realized I still had my tray in my hand, which was poised to throw the leftovers in the garbage. Of course, Gerald had already taken care of his. 

"Sorry, Gerald," I apologized, grinning sheepishly as I dumped the contents of my tray.

"Arnold, you're spacing out way more than you usually do." Gerald eyed me thoughtfully. "What's up?"

_Good question, I thought. _Too bad I don't know myself.__

Shrugging, I answered, "Let's start with you first, remember?"

Gerald chuckled, yet I could tell his humor was forced. "Right, doc."

We walked past the empty lunch line to the open double doors that led directly to the school's halls, the shortest route to the library. Phoebe was plucking a milk pint out of the mini-freezer along the wall. 

"Phoebe!" Gerald cried, his face brightening considerably. 

Almost banging her head into the swinging freezer door, Phoebe looked up in surprise. _She probably wasn't expecting to be yelled at inside there, I guessed wryly._

"Gerald, hello!" she replied pleasantly, adjusting a flyaway strand of straight black hair out her face. I noticed her tight grip on the milk carton, which was turning her knuckles white. 

"Uh, listen," Gerald whispered to her, "can you do Arnold and me a favor?"

"What is it?" Phoebe inquired, curious.

Pausing for a moment, he draped an arm about her shoulder casually. "If anyone asks, you were helping us with our English papers just now, right?"

Phoebe smiled at Gerald with uncertainty, but she breathed, "Why, of course, Gerald."

He grinned, knowing that he was in good hands. If the Shakespearean phrase, "Discretion is the better part of valor," could be applied to anyone I knew, Phoebe fit the description most aptly.

********************************************************************************

We staked out a table in the very back of the spacious library. Buried behind the numerous rows of alphabetized bookcases, Gerald and I would have the opportunity to converse freely. Then again, there was no one here to overhear us except for the librarian, and she'd barely glanced in our direction when we'd entered. 

For a moment, we were silent, simply looking at each other. From the way Gerald was uneasily fidgeting, I knew it was up to me to initiate any talking between us.

"What's bothering

 you, Gerald?" I asked in a low voice. 

My question seemed to open a floodgate for my best friend. "It's Jamie O., Arnold," he blurted out, his ebony eyes flashing darkly. "Dad got a call from him this morning." His hands balled up into fists. "Jamie O. was caught driving drunk by the police on Saturday."

I was stunned. Out of all the Johanssen kids, Jamie O. was probably the golden child. He'd left behind a legacy of successful varsity team stints and an honor student status. As the next in line for high school glory, Gerald believed Jamie O. was a hard act to follow. Time and again I'd attempted to allay his unfounded fears, all to no avail. Gerald was caught in a vicious cycle of simultaneously admiring and disliking his elder brother.

That attitude was clearly illustrated on his face as he sat before me now. I could sense Gerald's disappointment and anger in Jamie O.'s horrible mistake. My own blood froze as I imagined the worst-case scenario for such a situation.

"Was anyone hurt or-" I tried a different approach to my question. "I mean, how bad was it?"

"No one involved is going to be inflicted with anything worse than a hang-over," Gerald informed me flatly. "At least Jamie O. won't be charged with underage drinking since he'd turned twenty-one that day." He laughed bitterly. "What a way to celebrate his birthday! Yep, cruising with his frat buddies around Seattle after downing way too much tequila."

"Well," I reasoned in an effort to reassure Gerald, "if it's first offense, then it shouldn't be so-"

"There's still a lot of community service and court appearance in his future because he was given a D.U.I.," Gerald interrupted, shaking his head. "Why does Jamie O. always have to act like such a dumb-ass?"

"Always?" I replied, my brow furrowing.

_There's something else Gerald isn't telling me,_ I realized with a start.

He was silent for a couple of minutes, carefully watching me. The rage that had possessed him only moments earlier seemed to abruptly disappear, leaving him completely drained.

"Has this happened before, Gerald?" I questioned.

Gerald sighed deeply. "Not this particular type of incident, per se."

"Then what's going on? Is Jamie O. in some kind of trouble?" I persisted, becoming increasingly concerned.

"Something's been going on for a while," Gerald responded, his eyes taking on a distant gleam. "I did know that Jamie O.'s grades were sort of low, not quite dean's list material." He shrugged. "I always chalked it up to the sports cutting into his study time. Nothing major. Jamie O. still had his scholarship, and that's what mattered."

"No, it doesn't, Gerald. Not if Jamie O. is getting mixed up into the wrong things."

"I think Dad didn't understand that until today," Gerald agreed wearily. "You see, Jamie O.'s been hiding everything from us, including Dad. Apparently Jamie O.'s this close to losing his scholarship because he's on academic probation. He's also pretty confused right now about what he wants, so he's been partying hard to cover it up. I only found all this out because I happened to walk in on that call Jamie O. made to Dad this morning."

_Oh, man, _I thought in dismay.

Gerald read my expression and nodded knowingly. "Yeah, Dad was pretty pissed at my intrusion, but he calmed down quickly enough." My best friend gazed at me intensely. "Arnold, my father is scared more than anything else. Jamie O. is burning out, and Dad doesn't know how to deal with it!"

A realization dawned in my mind, causing me to exclaim, "So that's why Mr. Johanssen ordered you to cut your hair off."

"Right. He'll lash out whenever something he can't cope with confronts him. It comes from being that strong, silent type." Gerald frowned. "I wonder if that runs in the family. My continual refusal to get rid of my afro was definitely a sore spot between the both of us. We just needed the proper spark to set off the fire."

_Like Jamie O.'s D.U.I., _I silently finished for him, knowing from personal experience how Gerald and Mr. Johanssen could sometimes clash together rather explosively.

Still, I was also aware of the fact that they both deeply cared for each other, and I voiced as much to Gerald. "Mr. Johanssen is only worried about you, Gerald. He's only trying-"

"Looking out for my best interests. I know, Arnold," Gerald cut in. He paused to exhale slowly. "That's why I'm going to do it."

"What's that?" I inquired, although I already knew what he was going to say.

"I'll let my hair go so that a rift won't develop between Dad and me," my best friend declared, swallowing hard. "It's the least I can do if Jamie O. could come clean to Dad. Besides, the whole afro thing's been about a control issue, and that seems kind of petty at present."

_If Mr. Johanssen could hear you now, he'd be really proud of you, _I thought, smiling.

"Now let's see if Jamie O. can clean up his act. He'll be coming home this summer, which should give us the opportunity to find out." 

"He'll bounce back," I reassured Gerald.

If there was anything I knew about Gerald's brother, it was that he could prove tenacious. The real question that weighed on my mind was how Jamie O. could let himself get to this low point without telling anyone.

Gerald smiled. "Thanks, man. You know, Sid's absolutely right. You do have a sunny optimism about you that can disarm _anyone_."

It was good to see Gerald back to more of his normal self. "Your welcome," I joked in response to his reference about Sid's earlier embarrassing comments.

The light moment suddenly passed as he fixed his eyes on me intently. "I've also made another decision. I want to take my relationship with Phoebe to the next level."

I nearly fell out of my chair at that. Everyone had known for years that Phoebe and Gerald shared a mutual affection for each other. However, they appeared content to simply hang out together, not actually professing any intention of dating. The current tide of events, though, must've warranted Gerald's change of mind toward the situation.

"Did you ask her to Rhonda's party?" I questioned, recalling that they'd worked as partners on the English paper this morning.

He grinned, a scarlet flush prominently showing up on his dark skin. "No, Phoebe did, and I accepted, if that's any indication."

My eyebrows raised in surprise at that. Gerald, who was always so confident and smooth-talking, got tongue-tied at the mention of a single date?

"Hey, what can I say?" he defended sheepishly, shrugging. "Phoebe can be very persuasive when she wants to be."

"You really care about her, don't you?"

Gerald was silent for a moment before replying thoughtfully, "Yeah, I do. Not to sound sappy, but Phoebe means the world to me." He smiled goofily. "Is that crazy, Arnold? We're both only fourteen, after all."

I grinned broadly to myself. "No, it's not, Gerald. In fact, one day I hope to be as lucky as you two are."

"You're thinking about Lila again, aren't you?" Gerald demanded, smirking.

Forcibly banishing Lila's beautiful face from my mind, I fibbed, "No."

My best friend shook his head. "Whatever. If you're going to ask her to Rhonda's party, just do it."

_Oh, so you believe I can't do it? _I thought indignantly. I loved going up against seemingly impossible odds just to prove a point. I guess it was the underdog side of me that enjoyed such challenges.

"Maybe I will," I retorted, "and she might even say yes." 

"You better, Arnold," Gerald lectured in a mock serious tone, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "I can only stand to watch you moon over her for so long. If you don't, I just might have to put you out of your misery."

In spite of myself, I laughed at his exaggeration. After all, he was only trying to make me feel better. Nevertheless, I was painfully aware of how much I had probably bored Gerald with my babbling on about Lila all these years.

"Don't worry. You won't have to resort to those measures yet. Better yet, I'll let you know when I'm in need of your services."

The bell rang, signaling the end to lunch. We heard the roar of the returning students as they crowded into the hall. 

Gerald stood up, bobbing his head toward the library entrance. "I'm going to walk Phoebe back to class if she hasn't already taken off," he announced. "Do you want to come with?"

"No, thanks," I refused. Now it was my turn to tease Gerald. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone."

He slammed his massive fists together in what was supposed to be a threatening gesture. "Man, Arnold, you're lucky you're my best friend."

"Okay, Gerald, whatever you say."

We flashed each other knowing grins. I got up and stretched out my hand to him. We interlocked fingers and wiggled our thumbs together. _Our secret handshake, I thought, beaming at the memory of inventing this method of greeting each other all the way back in preschool._

"Later, man," Gerald called over his shoulder as his form disappeared out of view behind the bookshelves.

Suddenly I heard humming drifting back to where I was still remained. _Gerald, sometimes you're as much of a dreamer as everyone else claims I am, I noted in amusement, __and a_pparently that's not always a bad thing. Now if I could just get my courage up to ask Lila out…__

***********************************************************************************

"Was that Helga you just talked to?" Gerald drilled, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

After school, Gerald and I had walked directly over to Mrs. Vitello's flower shop. With Memorial Day around the corner, Mrs. Vitello had already been swamped with orders during the day, and we were picking up the extra work that she couldn't do herself. As always, Gerald handled the cashier duties, since he was so personable (not that I minded). I much preferred putting together all the flower arrangements to dealing with sales. There was something about working with my hands to create a finished product out of raw material that appealed to me.

Currently, though, after almost an hour and half of consistently rolling out completed deliveries, we were experiencing a lull. I took advantage of this slow moment to water the outside floral display. The hot afternoon sun beating down on the fragile plants couldn't have been good for them.

What I didn't expect out of my shift was to strike a tentative deal with Helga Pataki. When she showed up out of nowhere while I was out front showering the flowers, I didn't really feel like doing anything more than exchanging passing civilities with her. However, my discussion with Gerald at lunch kept running through my brain. His newfound relationship with Phoebe especially weighed heavily on my mind. That was why I stopped Helga and offered her a truce. Well, actually, a sort of agreement not to bite each other's heads off when we were around Phoebe and Gerald. I must admit it was a big move for me to do, and I was pretty surprised that Helga didn't reject it altogether. Only time would tell if she'd follow through with the plan.

"Yeah." There was no point in hiding the encounter from Gerald.

Gerald hopped down from his stool behind the counter and walked out to face me. "What for, Arnold? You know she probably wanted to come after you for this morning."

_Not again, _I thought.

"Look, it's not _that_," I sighed. "In fact, I proposed that we should try to get along better."

"Really?" Gerald echoed incredulously, his eyes filled with bewilderment. "Why would you that? Once we graduate next week, we don't have to deal with her again. You should be _ecstatic_ about that."

"That's not exactly true," I refuted. "In case you forgot, Helga is Phoebe's best friend, and I'm sure she'll continue to be in that spot for a while. Just like I'm your best friend."

His eyes narrowed. "Now that I think about it, she's also available, and you are too…"

I knew what he was driving at, and I didn't appreciate the implication one bit. "Will you lay off, Gerald? I got enough from Sid and Stinky today alone to last me a lifetime," I complained irritably.

"Arnold, have you come back in yet?" Mrs. Vitello shouted from the back room. "I need some help with carrying this potting soil."

"Sorry, man," my best friend apologized, shrugging. "It just seems weird that you could have an encounter with the infamous Helga G. Pataki and survive to tell to the tale, however stupid it is." With that, he returned to his post. 

As I strode back to assist my boss with the heavy bags of potting soil, a thought suddenly occurred to me: _Gerald's right. Despite Helga's profuse threats to beat me to a bloody pulp, she's never once followed them up. Funny… _

**Author's Note: That chapter turned out to be both heavy-handed and light-hearted; a strange combination indeed. For those of you who have taken the journey with me so far, the longest day that I've ever written about is at last over. The action will move much more quickly now as we head to graduation with the usual further plot developments. Thanks again for reading. **


	9. Helga: Divided

**Set Me Free **

**Author's Note: After a grueling three weeks of research on a boring psychology paper (I didn't get to pick the topic), I'm finally done! I got through midterms without too many scraps, too. I've also noticed that I've been updating a lot on Tuesdays, so here's the deal: I'll update every Tuesday or Thursday of each week. That way you'll know what days to expect my new chapters. Now I know many of you are wondering if Helga will really go to ****Alaska****. If she does, what could induce her to go along with it? That's what I seek to answer in this chapter. Enjoy and keep on reviewing! **

**Helga: Divided**

**_What are you going to do with your gift dear child?_**

**_Give life, give love, give soul?_**

**_Divided is the one who dances_**

**_For the soul is so exposed_**

**_Creed, "Hide" _**

******__**

May-June 2001

I sighed from my stretched out position on the ground. The grass was coated with a light dank sensation from an earlier rain that day, rendering it too uncomfortable to lay on for long. Still, it felt wonderful to be out of the house, away from school, free from any stifling restraint life had to offer.

Suddenly I heard the ice cream cart's tired, whining bell clang as it trundled on its rounds through Tina Park. Springing to my feet, I rummaged in my jeans for enough change to purchase a cone. As soon as I found a hidden cache of quarters in my left cargo pocket, I dashed to the approaching vendor on a nearby path, which was one of many that wound through the verdant park. 

We made the transaction with hardly a syllable spoken. That was fine with me. I had my eye on the close-by footbridge that crossed a small stream bisecting the park. Leaning again one of its thick balustrades, I allowed myself to drift as I had only moments earlier, this time in the deep depths of the running water below… 

Last week had flashed by in a blinding whirl. Mrs. Skelter, as usual, piled on the homework. In particular, the English project that Lorenzo and I had been assigned to was completed quickly enough. Because he was so productive, Lorenzo did most of the legwork anyway, which I was more than happy to let him do. I detested realism, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, Arnold, damn him, was right about Romanticism. Something about that flowery, emotional style did appeal to me. Of course, I would never slip that up the old football head.

Our class started to formally gear up for graduation, although I'm of the opinion some people had been ready for months or even years to get the hell out of here. Formal invitations were sent to parents that week (why does anyone bother with that; Bob and Miriam didn't give a damn). In addition, we were given our caps and gowns that we'd been fitted for the month before. Beginning the day after Memorial Day, the always slow, laborious process of setting up the gym for the graduation ceremony plunged the entire eighth grade class into hell. Or maybe it was only purgatory since we had to put up with just four days of it during our study hall. 

To probably test the very perseverance of our souls, the "random" teacher who'd been assigned to be in charge of it all was Mr. Simmons. I'd had the unfortunate privilege of being a student of his in fourth grade. God, he was such a throw pillow. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that the school hired Simmons just to be their personal cheerleader!

Between schoolwork and graduation preparations, the upcoming Alaska trip occupied a dim but constantly aware corner of my mind. Bob certainly didn't waste any time, though, in speeding up things. He immediately contacted Olga by letter, confirming my alleged agreement to her invitation. When my father showed me that offending slip of paper, I let have a piece of my mind! 

Needless to say, this behavior didn't exactly deter him. I was promptly handed two tickets: a ferry that would ship me from Seattle to Juneau, Alaska's capital; and an airplane ticket that would transport me from Juneau to Fairbanks. For some reason, Olga had insisted in her reply letter that this be the method I follow when traveling to Alaska. Bob didn't mind complying with her wishes, since the difference in expenses for flying all the way there wasn't too great. 

The only difficulty was that I would leave on June 4, the same day as Dad and Mom's scheduled flight to Dallas. Actually, that was no problem; I'd never had a problem with missing an ocean-going vessel before, and I didn't foresee any trouble heading my way in the promptness department.

With such ripe opportunity to yet again bitch about my parents, you would think I'd take full advantage of that, right? I divulged none of the recent developments to Phoebe. I was avoiding her these days, because I couldn't stand to see Phoebe and Gerald together. Ever since they'd decided to make their couple status official, everyone in our class, especially Princess Rhonda, had been gossiping about the whole affair. Furthermore, I didn't feel like being badgered about Arnold anymore. 

To make it even safer, I steered clear of any contact with Arnold as well. Current circumstances, namely the Alaska venture, had put me in a powerless position. I hated not having control of my own stinking life, and Arnold was one more factor I didn't need complicating the pot. Who knew what I'd do if I was in his presence? His ability to undo me with seemingly little effort with both a blessing and a curse. No, if I had to figure out anything especially disturbing, it needed to be done on my own. Besides, if I spilled the beans to him about my impending Alaska journey in the spirit of his Good Samaritan qualities, I didn't think I could stomach his do-goody blabbing. 

So here I was on Wednesday afternoon in Tina Park, just two days from graduation, and I was depressed as hell. Sure, I suppose part of it was pretty childish, like my jealousy of Gerald and Phoebe's new relationship and my chagrin at revealing that confession to Dr. Bliss. Another part, I believed, was completely justified: my deep-seated hatred of Olga and her forcing me into a situation in which I saw no good coming out of it. The largest part of me, though, wondered what I was going to do about my immediate future. Despite my conversation with him last Monday outside Mrs. Vitello's shop, I seemed to be no closer to solving my Arnold dilemma…

Something warm and gooey dripped into my hands, shocking me back into the present. Damn it! I swore to myself. My ice cream had melted over the confines of the cone, trickling down between the crevices of my fingers. Luckily, because of my forward pitch on the footbridge, I was able to narrowly avoid the sticky mess from getting on my black cap-sleeved shirt. 

Spotting a trash can perched beside a tree bordering the footbridge, I sped to it to discard my wasted treat. That left the gunk on my hands to attend to. Unfortunately, I didn't have anything to clean up the chocolate disaster with. Oh, well, I'll improvise, I decided, kneeling behind the huge tree to wipe my hands vigorously on the grass. 

That was when the familiar soft-spoken voice drifted toward me. "Wow, isn't it a beautiful day!" 

_It's __Arnold__! I realized in terror, scooting the rest of my body behind the tree to conceal myself. _

However, I couldn't resist peeking around the trunk at my beloved strolling down the path. I was instantly assaulted with the invigorating aroma that could only come from the equally invigorating soap he used. His blond hair stuck out wily-nilly as always, looking as if he perpetually needed a haircut. The crisp, clean lines of his casual style that consisted of dark denim jeans and a cerulean button-down shirt accentuated the blue depths of his eyes. In short, Arnold looked absolutely fantastic. 

Next to him, though, was someone I desperately wanted to rip to shreds. Lila, I thought contemptuously. Long ago she'd gotten rid of the cutesy dresses and braided hair tied with ribbons. She now dressed more like the tease I always knew her to be, although she still hid behind her glossed-over reputation. This was perfectly illustrated by her snug black capris and fitted white tank top that showed off just a hint of tanned stomach. Her wavy auburn hair hung freely down her back in the gentle breeze. 

_I'll tell you one thing. You'll never catch Helga G. Pataki in some get-up like that,_ I promised to myself. _Even if I am the less popular for it, at least I won't be a sugary sweet phony substitute like Lila. _

"Oh, Arnold, the weather is just ever so breathtaking," Lila agreed in her pretentiously animated voice. They were now crossing the footbridge. "Once the rain cleared up, that is."

Arnold nodded his head wildly like a cork bobbing in water. "I know. It was still pretty nasty outside while we were in school." 

_Ever the eager beaver, Arnold,_ I thought in disgust, shaking my head.

Lila smiled slightly at the poor fool, abruptly halting. Naturally, with my luck, she had to pick the spot right in front of the tree. Arnold, who had been nervously shuffling milliseconds ahead of her, stopped far enough for me to glimpse the tops of his brown suede shoes. Cringing, I crouched even further into a ball, praying that I would be overlooked.

"Arnold, we've been walking around this park for a few minutes making small talk, and you haven't told me why you asked me here," she began without preamble, her hands on her narrow hips.

"Well…" Arnold's voice trailed off as he suddenly found the partly cloudy sky very interesting.

Still smiling in that idiotic way of hers, Lila encouraged, "Go ahead, Arnold. We're good friends, after all."

_Good friends, my ass!_ I glowered, scowling. If she didn't get out of there soon, I was going to come out swinging and ask questions later.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar gesture of betraying how uneasy he was. "Okay, Lila. See, Rhonda's party is Friday, and I've been wondering if…well, if you'd want to come with me…I mean, that is…" 

"Are you asking to go with you to Rhonda's party?" Lila guessed cautiously.

Arnold nodded eagerly, obviously relieved that she'd finished his request for him, thereby putting the ball in her court. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

She was silent for what seemed like forever, the tension thick in the air. "Arnold, as much as I'd love to, I'm oh-so-certain I must decline for two reasons," she softly refused at last.

_Yes, yes, she shot him down!_ I silently cheered. The next moment, though, I regretted those words. _Wait, what am I thinking? That dumb bitch turned down the sweetest boy she's ever met. Hell, it probably took him forever to muster up enough courage to even ask her out here..._

"You see, Arnold, I've told you many times that I don't like you in that way," Lila reasoned, bringing me back to the moment. "I also couldn't attend Rhonda's ever so delightful party even if I wanted to."

"What do you mean?" he inquired hesitantly. His already disappointed face descended deeper into depression.

My own heart thumped in excitement as Lila continued. "My father found a temp job that pays well, but it'll take him out of town for a few weeks to Seattle."

Lila, for as "perfect" as she was, did have a somewhat sorry state of affairs at home. Originally raised on some farm, Lila and her father had moved to Hillwood City shortly after her mother had died. They'd moved into a run-down part of the city, living from paycheck to paycheck. From what little I had cared to glean, they were faring better these days. Still, Mr. Sawyer's work history was a bit sketchy, and I'd seen Lila more than once peddling her odd jobs routine throughout the neighborhood to unsuspecting old people. 

"Of course I'll to have to come with Daddy. We're leaving right after graduation on Friday night, since he'll have to start work early on Saturday morning," Lila continued. She gingerly lay a hand on his shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. "You understand, right?"

Brightening enough to put up a brave front, Arnold attempted a pathetic smile. "Sure, Lila."

"Now I'm oh-so-certain I must be going," Lila excused herself, quickly withdrawing her hand. "I promised to meet Gloria at Slausen's at five-thirty." She checked her watch before adding, "I'm late! See you tomorrow, Arnold!"

As she rushed off, Arnold waved to her half-heartedly, simply standing stock still. _Whew! I sighed to myself, glad she didn't notice me. _One down, one more to go.____

Whipping around, I surveyed my surroundings behind me in the distance. There was enough cover for me to make a swift get-away across the soggy, empty baseball field. Although I'd probably get muddied up quite a bit for making such a trek, that was the least of my worries by this point. Filth from clothes could be washed away; mortification resulting from Arnold discovering me could not be eradicated so easily.

I silently counted to three, speeding off like a bat-out-of-hell at the last moment. However, an unfortunate side effect of having such a humongous tree for a hiding spot was its blasted roots. I headed for a particularly cumbersome one that happened to be sticking up straight in my path. Unable to avoid it in time, I tripped over it with a sonorous thump and an involuntary cry of surprise. 

Temporarily stunned, I remained prostrate on the ground. The hard fall had also knocked the wind out of my lungs. 

"Helga?" 

Lifting my head, I detected Arnold's form peering at me a few feet away. _So much for my great escape,_ I scolded myself in disgust. 

Instantly I sat up and dusted myself off as if it was no big deal to be showing up out of nowhere in front of my publicly sworn enemy. "Yeah, it's me, bucko."

"What are you doing here?" Arnold questioned. Suspicion crossed his face. "Did you overhear anything just now?"

"So what if I did?" I retorted, sounding more defensive than I liked. I stood up, hoping my sheer extensive height would intimidate him. "It's a free country, football head, and I don't remember the park belonging to you." "Besides, I was…" Looking up at the tree, I espied a robin flutter off from a low branch. "I was bird watching."

"Bird watching?" Arnold echoed dubiously. "I can't imagine you being into bird watching."

_What do you know about me?_ I thought indignantly. _Only what I allow you see, that's for damn sure!_

"That just goes to show I'm more varied than most people realize, including you, Arnoldo," I huffed.

"Whatever, Helga," Arnold sighed as he began to turn away from me.

Suddenly I realized what a complete dumb-ass I'd just been by momentarily letting my petty, boorish anger get in the way. Arnold was in a funk, and I couldn't leave him hanging. Never mind that the source of his turmoil happened to be yet another spurned attempt at getting Lila to go out with him; I couldn't bear to see my beloved so down like he was at that moment.

_Or perhaps I'm best suited to console him because I can relate to his situation way too close for comfort,_ I thought ruefully.

"Well, if you must know, hair boy, things were hunky-dory for both me and the birds until you and little miss perfect came tromping through here," I called. "I must admit I'm disappointed that you still haven't learned your lesson when it comes to her."

Just as I'd suspected, Arnold halted dead in his retreating tracks. He whirled around, responding in a sharp voice, "Hey, a person can dream, can't he?"

The pain in his eyes reverberated deep within my soul. _God, you don't know how much I want to tell you the truth behind that question, I silently answered. _

Instead, I had to be more indirect in providing my ass-backwards brand of comfort to Arnold. A past memory of something that Grandma Geraldine had related to me flashed into my mind, and I blurted without thinking, "I was once told by my grandma that dreams were like hummingbirds. They're hard to find, and even harder to catch." I almost immediately realized how stupid I must look to Arnold, but I had to follow through to keep the shreds of my credibility intact. "If you ever do grab a hold of one, though, you'll be forever grateful that you could manage such a unique feat."

He actually smiled at my goofy words. "Really? It sounds like your grandma is a wise person." He studied me curiously. "Is that how you got interested in bird watching? Your grandma was handy with the bird analogy advice?" 

"I guess," I agreed, shrugging noncommittally. "She's into that sort of fluff." Another recollection slipped into my mind, and I added, "I mean, back in South Dakota, she's got all these bird feeders strung out in her backyard, and there's a whole shelf inside her house filled with books solely on that subject." In spite of myself, I chuckled a little. "Yeah, I suppose you're right, football head. I never thought about it that much since I haven't seen her in forever, but Grandma Geraldine is definitely a bird nut."

"Geraldine? Is that what the 'G' in your name stands for?" Arnold asked, grinning.

Suddenly I wished I'd let him walk off. No one was supposed to know my middle name. It was one of my little quirks I made a big deal out of in order to appear tougher.

"That's right, Arnoldo, and if you so much as breath a word of it to anyone, I'll pound you, got it?" I warned menacingly.

Arnold was silent for a moment. "Thanks for making me feel better, Helga," he abruptly said in a quiet voice.

His blue eyes captured mine for a split second. Before I could lose myself in them, I snapped back into jeering mode. "Yeah, whatever, Arnoldo. Don't get all chummy on me now. I just couldn't stand to see you act so pathetic."

He shrugged good-naturedly. "Okay, Helga. Could you at least tell me what time it is?" he requested, indicating to his bare left wrist. "I forgot to wear my watch today."

"Almost six," I tersely informed Arnold, glancing at my black Timex.

"Well, Grandma probably has dinner on the table. I'm heading home. What about you?" 

"I do have pre-algebra to catch up on," I lied. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. "See you in the funny papers, bucko!"

With that, I stomped in the direction of the baseball field. As long as Arnold was heading down the regular path, I was going to avoid it at all costs.

"Hey, Helga!" Arnold yelled behind me. "You're not really going to cross that field, are you?" 

I spun around to face him, scowling. "Why not? It's a short cut out of this joint."

"What about the mud?" he inquired, pointing to it matter-of-factly.

_I'm no shrinking violet like your precious Lila!_ I thought hatefully. _Nothing's going to prevent me from doing what I want to accomplish._

"Whatever doesn't kill me only makes me stronger," I sneered. "And what about you, football head? Are you afraid of a little mud?"

To be honest, I expected him to roll his eyes, shake his head, and mutter something about how weird I was before marching off. Oddly, though, he stood his ground and looked me straight in the eye as he retorted, "Okay, Helga, I'll bite. I'll take your short cut. I don't feel like taking the long way back anyhow."

My heart began to thump uncontrollably. _Arnold__ just agreed to accompany out of the park! I sang in my mind. If that wasn't enough, blood rushed to my head, rendering me giddy beyond belief._

I forced myself back into the moment. "Right after you, pal."

He shrugged, striding past me. I followed hot on his heels, yet I was still careful to maintain my distance.

As we advanced toward the baseball field, the ground became increasingly soggy and muddy. It wasn't long before I heard the smushing sound of our shoes trampling upon the sodden earth. Mud stained the footwear as well, seeping up to the instep with each pace we took.

A shallow pool of water collected in one particularly low, sloping area. In true klutz fashion, I abruptly felt my feet fly out from under me while negotiating its slick bottom. Cold water rushed up to meet me, and I was too shocked to do anything except remain in the frigid liquid that rose to my waist.

Arnold fairly quickly noticed the absence of my steps that had formed the more sonorous part of our peculiar squishing symphony. He glanced over his shoulder, a smile forming on his face.

"Not one word from you," I growled.

He adopted a more serious expression, but any idiot could discern the amusement lurking beneath. "Don't worry, Helga. You may be assured of my discretion."

_You'll pay for that,_ I thought angrily.

Approaching me cautiously, Arnold held out his hand. "Come on, I'll help you up," he offered. "It must be pretty nasty sitting in that water. I'll even walk home with you so that you can change." 

I didn't even blink. The fistful of grainy mud I'd bunched up in my right hand pelted his cheek.

"Bulls-eye!" I cried, jumping up.

Arnold gazed at me in surprise for a moment. Then his eyes hardened as he reached for his own ammunition. Before I knew it, a spatter of mud landed on my forehead. It dribbled down into my eyes, clouding my vision.

We stared at each other dumbly, startled by the unexpected turn the situation had taken. What would happen next? Would someone back down?

As the seconds ticked by, though, it became painfully clear that neither of us was willing to admit defeat. Finally, I couldn't stand the tension anymore, so I jeered, "Well, what do you know, football head? You might have a backbone after all."

Arnold smirked, and I knew it was all over for me. I couldn't help grinning back at him.

Nevertheless, the light moment was as fleeting as it had been spontaneous. "Helga, we're acting pretty ridiculous," Arnold abruptly uttered, sobering up.

Glaring at him, I slipped into my bully persona with practiced ease. "Hey, you started it, Arnoldo!"

"Right," Arnold scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Let's just go."

"Forget it," I spat. "How do I know you won't pull more of your funny business?"

"Fine with me," he muttered before stalking off.

I stood there, too astonished to move at first. The encounter I'd just had with Arnold left me more confused than ever. Originally I'd started out with the intention of simply offering my rare off-handed advice before melting back into the shadows. Like everything else lately, though, my plans had been discarded so that fate could play her games of perversion and irony. Somewhere along the line, Arnold and I had shared two almost normal moments, but we'd parted in anger like always.

"Damn it," I murmured aloud. "Are we ever going to get it right?"

**************************************************************************

The next day at school was a total madhouse. It was the eighth grade's last day, and our class was milking it for all it was worth. The lower grades, however, grumbled at the injustice of not being able to cast off their own yoke until the following week. Of course, that wouldn't prevent a lot of them from showing up on Friday to yell out rowdy comments and cheers for their favorite graduates.

Despite the buzz of excitement in the air, the last preparations for the gym proceeded relatively smoothly. The guys hauled and arranged the remaining chairs and bleachers for the large crowd expected. Needless to say, I volunteered for this group. I couldn't bring myself to join the girls, who'd decided to "spruce up the gym a little." The only reason they'd been allowed to get away with such frivolous overkill was because of Simmons' flowery tendencies.

As usual, I kept to myself and particularly avoided any contact with Phoebe or Arnold. If anyone approached me, I'd lash out at that person until I was left alone again. This wasn't too difficult to do among a bunch of unruly guys who were well versed in my abrasive ways.

Simmons was an altogether different matter. At the end of study hall, he called us together for yet another one of his pep talks that he'd been forcing down our throats all week. 

"Well, folks, this is it," he began in his nasally, disgustingly cheerful voice. "Tomorrow will be the moment of truth. You all will pass over the threshold of elementary school into the exciting world of high school."

"Big whoop," I muttered loudly.

A wave of snickering washed over my classmates. Phoebe, who was glued at Gerald's side like always, glanced at me oddly. It shouldn't have been anything new to her. I'd been surly to the throw pillow all week, and everyone was eating it up.

Uncertainty briefly flashed in Simmons' watery blue eyes, then he continued. "Please be here at eight tomorrow so that we can go over seating arrangements, award and diploma distribution, and entrance order."

"Boo," I cried. Everyone else joined suit.

"Don't worry," Simmons reassured us over the racket we were making. "It won't be long, and once we're done, you'll be free for the day. Until that night, naturally." He grinned with such enthusiasm that I swore he was the one graduating instead of us. "You're dismissed."

As everyone flooded out of the gym, exclaiming or complaining over this and that, Simmons ambled up to me. "Helga, I would like to speak with you for a moment," he declared in a low voice.

I was in no mood to deal with him. Then again, when was there ever a good time to handle his touchy-feely bullshit?

"Simmons, isn't it too late to send me down to Wartz? I mean, school is over, after all."

"It's not that, Helga," Simmons said crisply, "although your recent behavior has been more-shall we say-fiery than usual."

Oh, brother, I thought, rolling my eyes.

"Look, can we make this quick?" I demanded, noticing that we were the only ones left in the gym. "I got places to go, things to do."

"Of course," he conceded, a bit flustered by my forcefulness.

I smiled. It was good to watch the worm squirm a little.

He removed a sheet from the clipboard he seemed to perpetually carry. "When you were my student, Helga, you handed in some exceptional writing compositions. That's why I instantly thought of you upon discovering this."

Some of the prose I'd done in fourth grade found its way into Simmons' possession. The guy was so clueless that I knew he'd never figure out who the constant subject of my tortured poems were, and I'd even get a decent grade from them. For some reason, Simmons became so impressed by them that he wanted to read a few "special" ones out loud in class. At first I flatly refused to be party to my own public humiliation. Then he dangled the tempting offer of entering my works in contests for prizes. I agreed to his evil little scheme on the condition I remain anonymous.

Now here it was five years later, and I had no wish of participating in another dirty pact with Simmons. "No dice, Simmons. I'm not interested."

His pudgy face fell in disappointment. "Helga, this is a great opportunity for you." Simmons scanned the paper he gripped. "Yahoo Soda, Inc. is offering-"

"Since when does a soft drink company have poetry contests?" I interrupted dryly.

"Actually, it's a short story competition," Simmons reported, perking up. "It's a new promotion of education deal that Yahoo Soda is undertaking."

"If you'll remember, stories aren't my forte." I whirled away from him.

"There's no harm in trying your luck at something new, Helga," he called after me. "The story is supposed to be based on a personal experience of yours." 

"Who cares?" I retorted as I stomped off.

"There are five hundred scholarships of a thousand dollars each to be awarded to all the winning works." 

"Don't you have to be in high school to get that kind of stuff?"

"Precisely. That's why I waited until today to give it to you."

Stopping dead in my tracks, I realized how correct Simmons was. As much as I hated the idiot man, he was still offering me a nonetheless excellent chance to obtain a small portion of the money stash I'd have to save up on in order to attend college. When I graduated high school, I wanted to be completely free of my parents emotionally, physically, and financially. Now was as good time as any to begin. 

Facing Simmons again, I snapped, "Okay, Simmons, you caught my attention. Where's the form for this thing?"

Simmons quickly covered the distance between us. "Here, Helga. Again, please consider this carefully. It's due at the end of summer, so there's no rush as of yet," he informed me, pressing the paper in my hand.

_At the end of summer?_ my mind echoed.

One topic immediately surfaced, seemingly as if it had showed up for this specific purpose: my trip to Alaska.


	10. Arnold: Inside Yourself

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: I had a lot of fun writing that last chapter! It actually was pretty easy to do once I got rolling. Oh, and the name "Tina Park" can be found in the "Timberly Loves ****Arnold****" episode (it's one of the funniest _Hey _****_Arnold_****_!_**** episodes I've ever seen; to quote Sid: "Hubba hubba!"). Just a fun fact for you guys. Now, basically, I address more of the Lila and Helga angles here. Pay attention to small details, because some of them will come up again later. Enjoy and keep on reviewing!**

**Arnold****: Inside Yourself**

**_Daylight burns your sleepy eyes _**

**_It's hard to see you dreaming_****__**

**_You hide inside yourself_****__**

**_I wondered what you're thinkin'…_****__**

**_Goo_****_ Goo Dolls, "All Eyes On Me"_****__**

****

May-June 2001

As I neared my red brick two-story house, I sighed in relief. I knew I looked awful to anybody I had passed on my way home. Mud crusted the tops of my suede shoes. A splatter of the grimy substance had dried on my right cheek. Most noticeable of all was the soaked legs of my denim jeans. All these factors were a physical manifestation of a particular encounter I'd just had. 

The first to greet me upon my opening the door was my pet Abner. Grandpa didn't mind letting him run wild through the house or the yard. Consequently, my pig was content to spend his days eating garbage and causing miscellaneous trouble. Currently, Abner was engaged in the latter activity. He chased a group of Grandma's ragtag alley cats right between my legs out onto the sidewalk. To be honest, this phenomenon was nothing new to me, but I was rather exasperated by this point at everything in the last few hours going haywire. Indulging an ornery pig wasn't big on my list of charities. 

"Abner, watch it!" My warning fell on deaf ears as the subject of my terse command circled a corner out of view.

_Wait a second, I'm yelling at a pig, _I thought, shaking my head. _I just hope the cops don't call about him running loose again._

"Short man, is that you?"

Whirling around, I stepped into the foyer, slamming the door shut. Immediately I was confronted with a small pile of suitcases stacked on the green wooden floor. Grandpa was creaking down the stairs, a brown leather satchel clutched in one hand.

"Hello, Grandpa," I greeted him. My hand moved to encompass the baggage in a sweeping motion. "What's all this?"

Grandpa halted, scratching the top of his bald head in thoughtful puzzlement as if I'd just asked him for the answer to one of life's greatest mysteries. "Well, Arnold, you should know what luggage looks like by now," he finally replied in an earnest voice. 

_Great, Grandpa's in one of his moods again,_ I thought dryly.

"I'm just pulling your leg, Arnold," Grandpa declared, noticing my impassive expression. "Although, come to think of it, you probably wouldn't want to pull my leg. My hip's made of space-age plastic, you know." He chortled at his own ambiguous joke, but abruptly stopped when he realized I wasn't joining in. "Work with me here, short man. I can only cheer you up if you give me something to go on."

"Grandpa…"

"Speaking of which, why are you so dang muddy and wet?" Grandpa questioned, scrutinizing me as he descended the rest of the steps. 

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it," I replied quietly.

I meant every word. Despite Grandpa's good intentions, I was really exhausted. Between school, my job, and the ill-fated excursion in Tina Park today, I wanted nothing more than to hop into the shower and spend some down time in my room.

Unfortunately, my grandfather was one of those people who didn't always take a hint. "Uh-oh, young Arnold is having another one of his childhood conundrums," he exclaimed in a voice full of mock terror, "and I bet it all has to do with your friend that has the one eyebrow."

"Why would you think that?" I snapped, even though the reasoning behind the question was obvious. 

"Come on, Arnold, why else would you be covered in mud unless she was involved in putting it there?" he shot back, setting down the brown satchel next to the suitcases. "Throwing stuff at each other was probably an accepted practice when you two were younger, I'm sure, but isn't it getting a little old now?" 

Sighing, I admitted, "That's part of the problem, Grandpa."

"I sense a long story coming on, short man!" Grandpa predicted, his blue eyes lighting up in excitement. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "How often have we beaten this subject to death?"

_Too many times for my taste, _I silently replied in dismay. It was definitely a favorite topic of discussion for Grandpa. He loved to tease me about the "one eyebrow girl" who pestered me so much. Sometimes my grandfather loved to stick it to people, and I was no exception.

"Uh, Grandpa…can we skip the heart-to-heart tonight?" I requested as I edged my way towards the stairs.

Grandpa gasped exaggeratedly. "Oh, no, Arnold, we can't do that!" he protested, clamping a hand on my shoulder in order to stop my retreat. "Whenever I'm in a snit, we always have one of those wonderful chitchats that help me figure out what I should do. Why, if I couldn't return the favor once in a while, I'd be a squelcher!" 

Everyone seemed to believe I had a knack to for solving people's problems, and I suppose I was pretty decent at it. While some appreciated my help, others have also accused of being a busybody, goody two-shoes, and many other assorted labels. Personally, though, I always assumed looking on the bright side was a lot easier to do than being pessimistic. The really amazing things in life that happen always appear to be impossible, but we should have faith anyway that they'll eventually come to pass. Much of the time, aspirations are all we have to keep us going in this world. That was what I had been doing all my life, waiting for one fervent dream to come true…

Blinking away my reverie, I smiled at Grandpa. "What's for dinner?"

_At least I'm hungry enough to handle Grandma's cooking if I can't escape to my room right now, _I reasoned_._

Blanching, he glanced furtively at the door to the dining room near the end of the hallway, where you could hear the literal pandemonium reigning supreme inside. "Watermelon," he whispered. 

That one word explained it all. Watermelon was Grandpa's worst enemy. A couple of slices of that stuff, and he was sentenced to the confines of his "office" for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, with Grandma's forgetfulness, everyone would be served watermelon from time to time in varying recipes that she'd invented, from casseroles to dessert delicacies. My stomach churched at the thought.

"How did you get out of eating _that_?" I inquired, shuddering.

"Let's just say I was blessed with a touch of good fortune from the big man upstairs," Grandpa uttered solemnly, jerking a thumb towards the very heavens.

I felt another punch line coming on. "Grandpa…"

"All right, short man, if you have to get specific, it was Mr. Smith," he bluntly clarified. "He buzzed me over the intercom to bring down some bags for him. From what little I could get, he's going to Dallas all summer to close some big business deal."

"Was that so hard?" I couldn't resist asking as I smirked at him.

"You can really take the winds out of anyone's sails, can't you?" Grandpa grumbled good-naturedly, crossing his arms. 

_I guess I'm prone to occasionally sticking it to Grandpa, too, _I mused wryly. Then again, that was just the nature of our relationship.

Suddenly a horn honked outside. "That must be Mr. Smith's driver," Grandpa declared, taking a suitcase in each hand and lugging it toward the front door. "Arnold, go upstairs and change. We still have to talk about your troubles with the one eyebrow girl."

Groaning in exasperation, I nearly dropped the two pieces of luggage in my grip. 

Grandpa gazed over his shoulder at me in amusement. "What did you think, short man? That I would forget? I may be old, but I'm not feeble-minded, or at least I'm not most of the time. Besides, you can't go out there looking like that. Mr. Smith is a very classy man, even if he has to act all weird about his privacy." He threw open the door. "Now, unless you want to choke down Pookie's watermelon fiasco, I suggest you follow my lead. We'll raid the ice box together after I handle Mr. Smith's stuff and take the booty up to your room. If we're lucky, Pookie won't be in the kitchen to bother us…"

My grandfather knew all too well. By this point, I had been cornered into two options, and it was clearly obvious which of the pair I would choose. There was no escape.

************************************************************************************

"Hand me one of those cookies, short man," Grandpa ordered as he banged open the door to my room.

"Just a second, Grandpa." 

I followed him inside, juggling two plates on each arm. Over the years, I'd learned to balance multiple pots of plants while running around Mrs. Vitello's shop, so the skill had come in handy to prevent the food from toppling over as we'd climbed upstairs. 

My room was on a split level at the very top of my house. Because of its relative isolation, it was an ideal place for me to hang out in with little disturbance by the other occupants of the house. In fact, it was like my own oasis among the desert of the world (pardon the cheesiness). Above the bed built into one wall were several shelves that contained a hodgepodge of items: photos, awards, personal mementos, books, and the like. Handholds/footholds carved into the wall led to the rooftop via through an entrance in the skylight. The other half of my room was dominated by a closet, stereo system, computer, and pull-out couch.

Heading for the desk on which my computer rested, I set the plates down gently on the uncluttered work surface. I seized a remote sitting nearby and pressed one button. The pull-out couch flipped out of the wall to extend on the floor. Grandpa sank down into it, although not before reaching for the desired cookie.

"Ah, oatmeal raison," Grandpa sighed in delight as he munched loudly. "That's probably the one thing Pookie can decently bake."

"I guess," I agreed, seizing one of the Yahoo sodas Grandpa had carried up. 

As I plopped down beside Grandpa, he studied me for a moment. "Arnold, there's no sense in beating about the bush with you," he announced earnestly. "I've noticed this past week or so that you've been kind of…preoccupied. At first I thought you might come to me or Pookie about it, but when you didn't…well, I've become concerned about you and, after tonight with this mud incident…"

_Yeah, Gerald saw it last Monday during lunch, too, _I thought.

I twisted off the cap of my Yahoo and took a swig. "Gerald's having problems with his father again," I informed Grandpa gravely, staring at the bottle in my hands. "Jamie O. was charged with a D.U.I. the weekend before last, and Mr. Johanssen was so upset that he ordered Gerald to get rid of his afro. There was a huge fight since the hair issue was a control thing between the two of them for a while." 

"Sounds bad, short man. Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

My eyes were still cast down to the floor; I couldn't bring myself to meet Grandpa's probing gaze. Nevertheless, it was pointless to be reluctant if I was going to have this discussion with him. I hadn't done any better trying to sort matters out on my own. I'd just have to steel myself for the words of wisdom and hilarious anecdotes that were certain to follow.

"Gerald went to the barber's this evening," I responded, glancing at Grandpa. "He said he wanted to look snazzy for graduation."

_You got to hand it to Gerald to come up with something like that, _I thought, smiling. 

"So I gather Gerald's taking it well?" Grandpa questioned, watching me curiously.

"Yes and no. Jamie O.'s coming home this summer, and I'm sure there'll be more rough patches ahead." I paused for a moment to inhale deeply. "Gerald also decided to start dating Phoebe, Helga's best friend."

Grandpa snapped his fingers. "That's how your little friend with the one eyebrow figures into all this. Sticky, tricky situation, Arnold." He shook his head. "How did Gerald get interested in this Phoebe girl all of a sudden?"

"Actually, Grandpa, it's been a low-key deal between them for a while," I corrected.

"Ah, I see. They like each other, yet they pretend they're 'just friends.' Then one day they let the cat of the bag as if it's some big surprise." 

Shrugging at his characterization, I said, "Sort of." I drank down the rest of my Yahoo in one gulp. "Well, Grandpa, it seems like you were right. I am going to be stuck with Helga for a long time. Not only through grade school, but through high school as well. Why do you think that is?" 

My grandfather smiled at me. "Short man, it's a funny world. Sometimes we have the strangest bedfellows in life."

"Bedfellows?" I echoed, confused.

"Yeah, haven't you heard that old saying? It has something to do with politics and making unlikely alliances." He scratched the top of his head again, probably wracking his mind for the elusive proverb to recite. "Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I revamped it anyway to fit your problem." 

"Grandpa, whatever we do, Helga and I can't get along," I sighed, slightly annoyed by my grandfather's "revamping" exercise. "It's not as simple as ignoring her anymore. I mean, I don't want to mess up Gerald's relationship with Phoebe. They both really care about each other. Helga and I can't let something as silly as our differences get in the way. They're our best friends, after all, despite everything between us."

"What have you done so far to make amends with this girl?" Grandpa asked as he snagged another cookie off a plate.

_Here goes, _I thought wearily.

"I suggested to her last week that we should agree to get along better," I began. "She didn't exactly reject it altogether, so I believed I'd made some progress. Helga, though, has been ignoring everyone lately, especially Phoebe. I think she's put off by the whole thing."

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Helga did indeed have feelings when you were faced with her devil-may-care attitude. Oh, sure, she was still the terror of P.S. 118; until she chose to be nicer, which was pretty unlikely to ever happen, she would continue to thrash anyone within her reaching distance. It was just that Helga did it with much more gusto than usual that had Phoebe concerned; Gerald could've cared less. I just hoped Helga would come around before she did something over-the-top. If a juicy scheme popped into her brain, there'd be no telling what she could do.

"And tonight in the park…" My voice trailed off in chagrin.

Grandpa fixed his eyes on me steadfastly. "Go ahead, short man."

"I'd gone to Tina Park to ask Lila out to Rhonda's graduation party," I blurted out, flushing. 

"A graduation party? Sounds like fun." A knowing smirk spread across his face. "Now, was that so hard?"

"You can really take the wind out of anyone's sails, can't you?" I smiled slightly at the familiar words.

"Not as much as Lila did when she turned you down," my grandfather answered briskly between a bite of cookie. My nonexistent love life was another favorite topic of Grandpa's, needless to say.

In retrospect, I suppose I had been embarking on a hopeless mission and even knew deep down I wouldn't succeed. Still, something inside of me kept compelling me to try once again. _Everyone wants something they can't have, no matter how remote the possibilities of ever obtaining that desired goal are, _I mused ruefully.

Laughing at my horrible predictability, I confirmed, "That's about the size of it, Grandpa. Lila can't come to the party anyway. Her father has to work in Seattle for a few weeks, and she's going with him right after graduation ends." I frowned. "Helga, of course, had to overhear everything."

Raising an eyebrow in surprise at this, Grandpa grabbed a Yahoo from my desk. "Irony just had a field day with you, huh, short man?"

_You don't know the half of it, _I thought. Then again, he was going to know the rest of the story soon enough.

"Grandpa, as weird as this is going to sound, I had an almost normal conversation with Helga Pataki," I continued. "She actually cheered me up."

Grandpa's eyebrows shot up even further.

"Yeah, it surprised me as well. Then I somehow agreed to walk home with her through a muddy baseball field. She fell down in some water, which I found to be pretty funny, so I smiled at her embarrassment."

"That was probably the stupidest thing you could've done, Arnold!" Grandpa scolded me, slapping his open palm on his forehead. "Don't you have any common sense?"

Although I knew he was right, I didn't like being reminded of my own foolishness. "Hey, it was her idea in the first place to wade through that muck!" I retorted defensively. 

"And just what exactly possessed you to allow yourself to be roped into this?" Grandpa eyed me carefully.

Again I was trapped. "Um…she challenged me," I admitted reluctantly. "She told me she wasn't worried about any mud and asked me if I was scared of it."

My grandfather chuckled. "Ah, the usual taunting routine. Works every time." He finished off the dregs of the Yahoo he'd been steadily drinking. "Short man, do you always have to take on these crazy odds? Sometimes things will backfire on you like…" A pained expressed briefly shadowed his face. "…like that bowl of chili I had for breakfast."

If I had heard a rim shot following his words, I couldn't have been more exasperated. "Grandpa, what do I do? We stormed off from each other after the whole mud ordeal. I'm back at square one."

Suddenly Grandpa got a gleam in his eyes that I knew all too well. "This reminds me of the time Mitzi and Pookie became friends," he announced in his reminiscing voice. 

Mitzi was Grandpa's older sister. I say older only because she was born a couple of minutes before her twin brother. The close bond that often exists between such siblings especially endeared my great-aunt and grandfather to each other. However, when their beloved dog Pooter escaped from the backyard one day and was accidentally run over, they blamed the whole tragedy on each other. About seventy years would pass before Aunt Mitzi and Grandpa made up. Even now they would still occasionally bicker and pull pranks like they used to, but I knew they wouldn't have it any other way, just like Gerald and Timberly.

"What happened?" I asked, interested in the rare story about Aunt Mitzi.

Grandpa perked up at my response, for he was in his prime when drawing upon his vast well of memories. "This was back before Pooter died, you understand, so I still liked Mitzi. Anyhow, I couldn't cotton to the idea of Gerty, the girl who hated me so much, being all chummy with my sister. At first it'd started out small, what with a conversation here and there at school. Pretty soon, Gerty was cutting into my quality time with Mitzi. Well, I couldn't take that lying down."

"What did you do?" I inquired, even though the answer was completely obvious.

"I tried everything in the book to drive a wedge between the two of them. I even got Jimmy Kafka in on a few of my schemes," he added, referring to his childhood best friend. "We both didn't like Gerty, and since two heads are better than one, we came up with some pretty interesting things." His broad smile crumbled into a frown. "Still, no matter what I did, I couldn't tear those blasted girls apart!"

_Wow, Grandpa must've been pretty jealous to resort to those measures, _I thought.

Shaking his head, Grandpa glanced at me thoughtfully. "Finally I realized how important Mitzi's new friendship was to her and what a complete ass I'd been in making such a ruckus over it. So I did the right thing, as you would say, short man. I forced myself to get along with Gerty for my sister's sake, and it turns out that she wasn't so bad after all."

"Not so bad?" I echoed. "Grandpa, you married Gerty!"

My grandfather only chuckled. "You're absolutely right, Arnold," he conceded lightly. "Well, let's hope you don't end up marrying that one eyebrow girl. She'll drive you crazy like Pookie does me." 

"Grandpa!"

"Just use your good instincts like I've always told you to do, short man." Grandpa rose from the couch and headed toward the door. "You better get some shut-eye. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

As he left, I checked the potato-powered clock on a shelf over my bed. It was only 7:30. Suddenly I began to fear for my sanity when I reached my mid-eighties.

Nevertheless, despite the incompleteness of Grandpa's tale, a few realizations about the Tina Park incident did come to mind. When Helga had offered her grandma's slightly offbeat but logical piece of advice to me, I'd been pleasantly surprised. She'd willingly put away her sarcastic tongue-lashing and mocking temporarily aside in an attempt to make me feel better about Lila's rejection. Then we'd grinned at each other after exchanging the cheap mud shots on our way home through that baseball field. It reminded me time and again of the high potential Helga had as a person, yet she always had to hide it for some crazy reason. Certainly the whole scene, for as silly as we'd acted, proved that she had a great sense of humor. With all the stress of the past week due to graduation, I couldn't recall having such fun with anyone in a while, even with…Lila.

_Wait, did I just think that? _I wondered, laughing to myself. _Helga and I agreed not to kill each other before we finish high school, not to extend the deal by becoming friends. I mean, come on, how many "football heads" could I really stand to hear within that close of a proximity to her?_

***********************************************************************************

"Gerald, do you remember when I told you I'd let you know if I needed your 'put me out of my misery' services?" I questioned tentatively at lunch the next day. 

Gerald looked up from his tray to eye me carefully. "Oh, man, she shot you down _again_?" 

Phoebe, who was sitting across from me beside Gerald, flashed us a confused expression. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

I abruptly realized that now was perhaps not the best time to reveal my Lila refusal in the middle of a crowded lunch room. The damage was done, however. Besides, with the whirlwind activities of day so far, this had been my first time to be alone with Gerald, if you didn't count the fact that Phoebe was with us.

"I asked Lila to Rhonda's party yesterday," I explained to Phoebe, "and she turned me down."

My best friend speared his last French fry between his thumb and forefinger. "Yeah, finally! Didn't I tell you to do it over a week ago?" he pointed out to me as he wolfed down the morsel in his grip.

That was one detail I didn't need to be reminded of. "She couldn't come to the party anyway, Gerald," I defended, "because her father has to go to work in Seattle first thing on Saturday."

"I believe I heard something about that this morning," Phoebe volunteered, sipping on her juice. 

"Yeah, Lila and Rhonda are pretty good friends, if I do say so myself. Lila could even knock Nadine out of the running for 'suck-up of the year' candidate."

"Gerald!" Phoebe admonished sharply, lightly elbowing her boyfriend in the side.

He shrugged, not in the least bit apologetic. "What? I was merely stating that Miss Rhonda Lloyd was pissed to be deprived of the pleasure of Lila's company."

_You can really feel the love in this room, _I thought wryly.

"Gerald, you're going to Rhonda's party. Couldn't you at least be a little nicer to the hostess, even if there are a few things about her that leave a bit to be desired?" 

"Everyone else is going, too, Arnold," Gerald retorted, waving his hand dismissively. "That's how you play the game in order to hang out with the beautiful people." 

"Gerald…"

"Arnold, you know I'm right. Now forget about Lila for the time being. You're going to that party if I have to drag you kicking and screaming there, and I'll even guarantee you'll have a good time." Gerald stood up. "I'm going to get some more fries. I better see a change in your attitude when I come back."

As soon as he was gone, Phoebe shook her head at me. "What can I say, Arnold? I can't take him anywhere," she quipped.

We laughed at that briefly. To outward appearances, Phoebe and Gerald seemed like total opposites, but this just went to show Phoebe had her own reserved sense of humor comparable to that of Gerald's obvious breeziness.

Phoebe, though, apparently had other matters on her mind. Seconds later after her joke, her eyes took on a more serious gleam. "Arnold, there's something I've been meaning to ask you all week," she began in her characteristically quiet voice. "Confidentially, of course." 

"What's that, Phoebe?" I inquired, concerned.

She fixed her eyes on me intently. "I want you to talk to Helga. She can't go on not speaking to any of us like she's been doing since last week."

Immediately I began to feel uneasy. "Um…shouldn't you be doing that?" I suggested. "She probably needs to hear it from you more than me."

"That's just the problem. Helga wouldn't listen to me even if I attempted to…" Phoebe's voice trailed off painfully, and I understood her unsaid words.

_Because of your relationship with Gerald, _I silently finished. As much as I didn't want to admit it, Phoebe did have a valid point. 

"I also recalled something today that Helga had told me earlier," she continued. "She was supposed to have a talk with her father after school. You know how he can be."

I simply nodded, curious to hear more. 

"Well, I think that Helga is probably bothered by something for her father said or did." Phoebe smiled at me in her sad way. "Naturally, she won't come out and admit it because of Gerald and me. Please, Arnold, try to find out what's perturbing Helga."

Outside Helga was making her daily rounds on the playground, stirring up the usual trouble. As I watched her, I couldn't help but feel trapped again for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Still, I couldn't leave Phoebe hanging. For her sake, I had to speak with Helga. Furthermore, the problem with Helga wasn't going to dissipate any time soon. If I knew anything about Helga Pataki, she would let hell freeze over before opening her mouth when she was truly put off by anything. Something had to be done.

Slowly I exhaled an intake of air I'd been holding and uttered quietly, "I'll talk to Helga."

*********************************************************************************** 

**Author's Note: It's graduation day for P.S. 118 next chapter! Will Helga break out of her self-imposed isolation? I'll let you know soon. Oh, before I forget, I saw an advertisement just last Saturday on CBS for a _Hey _****_Arnold_****_!_**** marathon on Saturday, November 8. Did anyone see this? In addition, CBS promises to show two new episodes that day, and I'm hoping that they will. Anyway, thanks again for reading.**


	11. Helga: What Keeps Me Here

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: This chapter brings back memories for me, even though I actually graduated from high school this year instead of eighth grade. Anyway, I hope it comes together nicely for you guys. It certainly played out differently than I had previously imagined. This is because of a character I decided to throw into the mix to make things more interesting, for this person will impact Helga in ways you may or may not expect. Enjoy and keep on reviewing! **

****

**Helga: What Keeps Me Here**

**_Long lost words whisper slowly to me_**

**_Still can't find what keeps me here_**

**_When all this time I've been so hollow inside_**

**_I know you're still there…_**

**_Evanescence, "Haunted"_**

June 2001

Early morning sunlight filtered in through my open window facing the east, brandishing its glaring pale light straight on my face. Still half-asleep, I mumbled a curse at the injustice of being jarred from my already restless slumber. I flopped over on the side of my bed flush with my nightstand and rubbed my eyes until the large digital numbers on the clock radio swam into focus. It was only a little after six, about the same time as when the sun began its ascent across the sky.

"I might as well get up," I murmured, sighing. My alarm wasn't set to go off until seven, but I knew sleep would elude me for that precious hour still left. 

Hopping out of bed, I headed toward my closet as I always did every morning and threw open the door. My blue cap and gown occupied a place front and center among all my apparel. Equally as visible was a lacy, wine-colored frock hanging next to the cap and gown. This dress had been a birthday present from Olga back in March. Although I had to concede that it was a tastefully good-looking garment, I couldn't bring myself to don the thing for the simple fact it was _Olga who had given it to me. Nonetheless, beggars couldn't be choosers when it was the only suitable attire I owned for a formal event like the impending P.S. 118 graduation. _

_Graduation is really tonight, I realized with a sudden wave of apprehension. _No, I can't think about that now, and I definitely can't dwell on Mary Sunshine.__

Like a person possessed, I flung the irritating clothing aside to get to the boxes of prose books and the Arnold shrine lurking behind in the very back. I grabbed a pink book from a random stack and flopped down on the ground in front of the shrine. Several purple pens were scattered on the closet's cool hardwood floor, and I seized one, flipping to a clean sheet in the notebook. For as long as my cramping fingers would allow it, the helpless rage inside of me found expression in the words that flew across the page as I slowly felt more relaxed in the security of my therapeutic writing skills. 

At last I simply stopped my fevered pace, drained of any feeling. All the pent-up emotion of the last week and a half had just been released. _I had that coming, I marveled in relief, examining the new scrawl of poems in my lap. _Before this morning, I couldn't even crack open one of these books. Everything was too…painful. All I could do every time I sat in here was stare at the damn things until I couldn't stand it anymore, which was never for very long anyway. God, that was why I had to go to Tina Park that night, to block it out for a while…__

Suddenly I spotted a loose piece of paper near me. I snatched it up and recognized the Yahoo Soda National Short Story Competition form Simmons had shoved at me yesterday afternoon. I also remembered the hour or so I had spent in my closet late that night, pondering the pros and cons of this contest. Frustrated at not being able to conquer my writer's block, the very problem impeding my attempt to consider a new literary form like stories, I finally stormed into bed at one in the morning. On top of that, I'd had a horrible night's rest in the few remaining hours I did have. _Not an auspicious start to my day,_ I mused ruefully.

Apparently, though, the key to unshackling my dammed creative energy was the pure impetus quality about today. All the recent events, from Phoebe's new relationship to the Alaska trip to the Arnold dilemma, had pushed me into an emotional lethargy. However, by comprehending the enormous reality of now having to make choices regarding those tough issues, I was able to drive myself out of hibernation. With this realization came another one right on its heels, one that I'd missed even last night: I'd had some control of my life returned to me when I'd been presented with the short story competition. As long as I had that, I knew I could face today, even though I still had no clue what course of action I'd take…

A hesitant knock on my hall door jolted me from my brooding. "Helga?" Miriam muttered sleepily. "You have a phone call."

_A phone call?__ my mind echoed. _Who could be calling here so early?__

As I emerged from the closet, Miriam performed her old trick of trying the knob on the door, only to find it locked. "Come on, Helga, answer me. It's almost seven o'clock, so I know you can't still be asleep."

"Hold your horses, Mom!" I cried petulantly, cracking the door open far enough to catch a glimpse of her haggard form swathed in a raggedy white bathrobe. "Who's calling for me?"

She adjusted her crooked glasses on her nose and looked like she was really trying to think about my question in her obviously intoxicated state. "Well, dear, it's some woman…" A triumphant smile flashed across her face. "She called here the other day asking for you, but you were gone then. I distinctly remember that because it was the same night you came home with the mud and water all over you, and B. hit the ceiling about the mess you created on the floor." 

"Does this woman have a _name_ by chance?" I demanded curtly, not wanting to rehash details of yet another fight between Dad and me. By this point in my life, I'd had so many that they seemed to blur together into one endless series of grudge matches.

My mother's idiotic enthusiasm at actually recalling something promptly dissipated. "I didn't ask for it just now, although I could've sworn I wrote it down somewhere when she initially called…"

_If I want to get anything done right at all around here, I better do it myself, I thought, irritated. _

"Don't worry about it, Miriam, I'll handle it myself," I snapped, breezing past her.

At the end of the hall was a low table on which the upstairs telephone perched. I picked up the receiver and immediately barked into it, "Hello!"

There was a moment of silence during which Miriam staggered into the empty bathroom. 

"Hello," I repeated more forcefully. "Who is this?"

"Relax, Helga, I heard you the first time," a throaty voice retorted.

"Is that you, Tish?" I asked, taken completely by surprise. 

I'd first met Tish Wittenberg over five years ago when she was organizing an all-girls neighborhood bowling team. Since I'd always kicked major ass in that sport, I jumped at the opportunity. By utilizing my take-charge attitude, I quickly dominated the other wishy-washy saps in the group, and Tish soon appointed me captain. Of course, it was an added bonus that we were playing against her husband's team, of which Arnold was a member, in our first tournament.

These were the beginnings of a long-standing acquaintance with Tish. Even though we lost the tournament against Wittenberg's team, I continued to lead "Helga's Angels" to other victories for four more years. Last year I bowed out of it because of a decreased level of interest in the activity. Still, Tish and I would occasionally get together for a friendly game or two for old times' sake. I enjoyed her company well enough, for I appreciated her straightforward and wry approach on life.

Tish illustrated this point perfectly with her response to the dumb question I'd just uttered. "No, I'm a telemarketer, and I'm trying to sell more useless junk to unsuspecting people like yourself. Of course, in order to fill my impossibly high quotas, I must call at all sorts of weird times of the day in the hopes someone might actually be home."

_You picked a hell of a time to do it, I thought dryly, yawning._

"You're lucky you didn't try me at dinner," I crisply countered. "Nothing ticks me off more than being interrupted then."

"You never cease to amaze me, Helga," Tish remarked as she chuckled to herself.

"Really, Tish? Well, there's more that where it came from. See, I raise the receiver on my phone and slam it down-"

"How about we continue this conversation over breakfast at Slausen's?" Tish cut in, unfazed by my flippant come-backs.

"Is that why you called me so ridiculously early?" I shot back. 

During the whole time I'd been speaking to Tish, guilt ate at me about the bowling game I intentionally missed without notifying Tish of the change in plans. We always played like clockwork on the last Friday of the month at five o'clock, followed up by an ice cream sundae at Slausen's. With all the recent shit hitting the fan, so to speak, I conveniently forgot about our tradition, which was weird in itself. Tish was one of the few people in my life at present who didn't remind me of something I wanted to avoid.

Even stranger was the fact that Tish didn't seem at all steamed by my actions. What was her angle? _I guess I might as well find out, _I thought, shrugging.

"Helga, it's not like the idea occurred to me out the blue," Tish replied. "Didn't you get my message? I believe I talked to your mother."

As if on cue, Miriam padded out of the bathroom. She barely glanced at me as she shuffled her way down the stairs. 

Frowning, I shifted the receiver from one hand to the other. "No, I'm afraid not." I heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. "It's so hard to find good dependability in relaying phone messages these days."

Tish laughed. "I know exactly what you mean," she agreed. "I've been married to Jack for twelve years now, and he still can't take down a person's name and number properly."

_That's not all he can't do right, I thought sourly, rolling my eyes._

The high note of Jack Wittenberg's life had been the string of successful varsity team stints he'd done in high school. Unfortunately, ever since then, Wittenberg kept trying to recapture the glory of the good old days through the vicarious experience of coaching. His apparent lack of intelligence and patience, though, fouled up most of the few jobs he could get. If it hadn't been for Arnold's extensive help in improving his technique, I knew Wittenberg couldn't have obtained his current coaching post at West Hillwood High.

So what was a smart woman like Tish doing with an idiot man like Wittenberg? It was difficult to say. Certainly both were very competitive and headstrong, which could bring out the best or worst in each other at any given moment. Consequently, theirs was a fairly extreme relationship, fraught with many highs and lows. Nonetheless, Tish and Wittenberg appeared to foster a genuine affection for each other against all the obstacles thrown their way; even I, the big sucker that I was for romance, had to admire that.

"Anyway, I called early enough to make sure I had confirmation on the breakfast thing," Tish continued. "You know, it's been awfully hard to get into touch with you lately. I can recall in particular a rain check that you failed to tell me about."

_Great, here it comes, I thought in dismay._

"I've been busy, Tish," I protested, resorting to a half-truth. "There's graduation, which I've been caught up in-"

"I know, Helga." There was a lot of meaning in that simple statement, and it made me wonder if Tish understood more than she let on.

_Hell, she's always had a knack for hitting close to the mark, I thought. _That must've been how she was able to fast-talk me into being her maid of honor whenever she was renewing her wedding vows with ___Wittenberg__. __Arnold__ was the best man, after all. She's always known I've had a thing for him, even if I haven't outright acknowledged that to her. _I guess I'm pretty obvious to some people at times, and it looks like this instance is no exception…__

Breaking off my musings, I brusquely blurted out, "Tish, I have a meeting this morning at P.S. 118 about my graduation tonight." 

"So what?" Tish replied briskly. "Aren't you free after that?"

"Yes," I reluctantly admitted, wanting to crawl into a hole for being so stupid.

"Wonderful. My schedule for today is flexible," Tish informed me cheerfully. "Jack left at some ungodly hour this morning to take Tucker fishing for the weekend."

Although Tish and Wittenberg didn't have offspring of their own, Wittenberg did have a fifteen-year-old son named Tucker from a fling he'd had before he got together with Tish. Despite this, Tish actually liked the kid, and Tucker even lived with them briefly about five years ago because the mother had fallen on hard times. Nevertheless, when Wittenberg was temporarily kicked out by Tish for losing a coaching job, Tucker was promptly moved back in with the mother, who had cleaned up her act in the meantime. Ever since then, Wittenberg had to submit to limited visitation rights in order to be able to see his son.

"Well, Helga, what do you say?" Tish persuaded. "You still owe me a good time, and I'm willing to show you one as well, especially for such a special occasion as your graduation. Besides, it's not as if I'll take up your whole day. It's just a few measly hours of your busy schedule. It'll be my treat…"

I hesitated. Downstairs, my father's harsh voice mingled with the softer tones of a news anchor on the blaring television. From the sound of Bob's conversation, I knew he was yapping on that cell phone of his about the Dallas trip. It had occupied his every waking thought for the last week and a half, and it would no doubt continue to do so even on my graduation day. As for Miriam, she already seemed pretty much out of it, so she probably wouldn't snap out of her stupor until way later. I was sure they wouldn't even notice that I was gone for a while. 

At any rate, I desperately needed to get out and take a breather. Perhaps I could even clear my mind enough to formulate a plan while I was still in the eye of the hurricane that was graduation. 

"Okay, Tish, you got yourself a deal," I answered with more enthusiasm than I felt. "Meet me at the front of P.S. 118 at about nine, and you better watch out, because I have a huge appetite coming on!" 

**********************************

"All right, now that everyone's here, I'll get straight to the point," Simmons began after taking roll.

_You better, I thought impatiently, folding my arms in front of me. All sixteen of us eighth graders stared back at Simmons blankly, desperately wishing we were anywhere but here. Even though it was barely eight o'clock in the morning, the air inside the gym was already sweltering hot, making our clothes stick to our sweaty skin. In addition, Simmons forced us to sit in alphabetical order on the rigid, uncomfortable bleachers so that we wouldn't screw up the carefully arranged rows of chairs. As if that wasn't enough, Rhonda and her loyal flunky Nadine flanked either side of me, whispering to each other about that damn party of theirs as if I didn't exist._

Simmons scanned his clipboard, mentally going down the checklist that was there. "First off, remember the two people who are sitting on each side of you. That's how you'll be seated tonight." 

_ How could I not forget the two buffoons next to me_? I thought tartly as I tuned out Rhonda and Nadine's monkey-like chattering.

"Secondly, you'll need to report to your classroom at no later than six-thirty, since the ceremony starts at seven. Mrs. Skelter-" Here Simmons gestured to our plump, matronly blonde teacher, who was standing slightly off to the side. "-and I will be there to supervise you." 

Knowing smirks spread like wildfire through our small group. We saw that one coming from a mile away. Naturally, arriving as early as this provided my class with nothing more than a formalized excuse to talk for a good twenty minutes. Since they'd already have us rounded up into one room, Mrs. Skelter and Simmons only had to make sure that Eugene didn't get into an accident or that Curly didn't burn down the school. Then, if both survived that far, the last real task left was to line us up correctly a few minutes before our big gym entrance.

According to Simmons, this was to be done through the north side door, which was at the very back. Consequently, we'd have to advance down the main aisle that cut across the middle of the gym. With Mrs. Skelter's help, Simmons forced us to practice the path that would obviously put us on display. Unfortunately, it took us several failed attempts before we could master the slow, sedate walk. Harold kept stomping his monster feet on other people's toes. Eugene repeatedly tripped, causing a domino effect for those around him. Curly offered endless weird and stupid suggestions to the teachers on how to improve the procession.

After that, Simmons ran down the list of paltry awards that would be given tonight. Not surprisingly, Phoebe was the recipient of many of them. As I yawned along with everyone else through this section of the meeting, I couldn't help but think of how ecstatic Phoebe must be to have more honors under her belt. She, as well as Lorenzo and Peapod Kid, would be standing up often to shake hands with the principal and superintendent. I was sure they'd also receive decent paper space beyond the usual shot of the whole class.

It was a quarter after nine when we were finally dismissed. Remembering my engagement with Tish, I sped out of there as fast as my feet could carry me. For as impatient as I knew the other kids had been, they took a more leisurely pace out of the gym, talking amongst themselves about their planes for the rest of the day.

I reached the double-doored main entrance as a voice from behind me called out, "Hey, Helga!"

_Damn it! I thought in alarm. _Why does __Arnold___ have to speak to me now? I'm not ready to do that yet!_

Pushing on the handle, I darted out the swinging door as if I hadn't heard the old football head. Outside, Tish's red Buick was parked directly in front of the school. As soon as she spotted me, Tish leaned over and rolled down the front passenger window. A blast of blessed cold air-conditioning fanned out on my face, while some Pat Benatar tune blared in the background.

"Helga, where's the fire?" Tish asked, grinning at my skittering steps.

"It would've been nice if there had been one," I retorted, tearing open the front passenger door. "Maybe then I could've gotten out of that boring meeting." A ghost of a smile flickered across my face. "Sorry about the wait."

"No problem. You survived the meeting no worse for the wear, it appears, and I got to 'chill', as you kids would say, for a few minutes," she reassured me. "Well, Slausen's awaits us."

_Don't I know it, _I thought, climbing inside the car. _Now if we could just get the hell out of here before…_

"Helga!" Arnold exclaimed as he emerged from the same door I'd just dashed out of.

My heart sank like a stone. At least the rest of the class hadn't come out yet. Perhaps I could still execute a quick getaway…

"Helga, it's your little friend," Tish remarked wryly, her smirk growing even wider. She shouted out the open front passenger window, "Hey, Arnold!"

I made a mental note to kill her later. 

Arnold beamed and waved to her, jogging lightly toward us. "Hi, Tish!" 

_Why does he have to be so damn friendly all the time? And why does Tish have to egg me on? I wondered angrily, wanting to strangle something (preferably Arnold and Tish simultaneously). I had to settle on knotting the slack of my fastened seat belt around my right hand._

Approaching my side of the vehicle, Arnold inclined his head so that it was level with my face. I nearly swooned at the exhilarating scent of the unknown shampoo he used, but I snapped out of my daze as quickly as it had descended upon me.

"What do _you_ want, bucko?" I spat nastily.

He shrugged as if all the fuss he'd made to get here was no big deal. "You forgot this," he responded matter-of-factly, producing a squashed piece of paper for my viewing pleasure. 

It was one of the graduation programs. Simmons had handed some copies to us so that we could familiarize ourselves with the ceremony order. There was also that added benefit, as Simmons and Mrs. Skelter stressed, of saving the stupid thing as a memento. Since I could've cared less about either purpose, I'd dumped the program the first chance I got. _Leave it to __Arnold_ to pick it up, _I noted ruefully. _I guess littering isn't bad for just the environment, after all.__

Suddenly Park and Iggy filed out of the gym. I knew the others couldn't be far along, so I roughly snatched the program out of Arnold's hand and sneered, "Thanks a lot, Arnoldo, but I'm kind of in the middle of something right now."

"Really?" Arnold studied me curiously.

"We're going to Slausen's for breakfast," Tish informed him cheerfully, laying a hand casually on the gearshift. "Would you like to come with us?"

I whipped my head around to meet her smug gaze briefly. If looks could kill, my expression would've instantly left her a smoldering heap of nothing. 

"No, that's okay," he declined, glancing over his shoulder. Gerald and Phoebe, of course, had streamed outside with a few more kids. "I have other plans."

_Hallelujah! I thought happily. _Somebody up in heaven loves me!__

Tish seemed a little disappointed at Arnold's refusal, but she shrugged nonchalantly enough. "To each his own," she declared breezily. "Catch you on the flip side, Arnie."

Arnold smiled slightly at her usage of Wittenberg's favorite phrase and nickname for him. "Bye, Tish." His eyes clouded over as he gazed at me. "See you later, Helga."

His abrupt change in mood disturbed me. "See you later, Arnold," I said slowly. 

It was the first time in a long while that I'd used Arnold's actual name to his face.

As we peeled away from the curb, I looked in the rearview mirror at my beloved. While Gerald was carrying on an animated conversation with Sid and Stinky, Arnold was standing off to the side, talking to Phoebe. Both of their faces were etched in concern. _Something's up,_ I realized with a building ball of dread in the pit of my stomach._ I mean, giving me a discarded program was a pretty dumb excuse to run after me like that, even if __Arnold__ is a natural Boy Scout… _

The wheels in my head turned a little further, bringing another realization to light. _Oh, no, _I thought in dismay. _Phoebe is sending __Arnold__ after me. There's no other reason for why __Arnold__ would single me out. God, I didn't need them pointing out my sorry-ass actions. Well, if they were going to start something, I was going to finish it on my own terms._

"Tish, are you in the mood for a long story?" I inquired gruffly.

Tish, who had been silent since she drove away from the school, turned to grin at me. "I thought you'd never ask."

I laughed out loud at her reply. Now that I reflected upon it, it was probably inevitable that I would confide in Tish during our time together. In fact, I suspected that it was the unconscious reason of why I had accepted her invitation in the first place. Like I've mentioned before with Dr. Bliss and Phoebe, Tish was another member of that rare breed who could take on my blows and return them effectively. Despite the fact she was currently on my shit list along with everyone else who fit that bill for trying to play me, I was going to trust her with one problem. The precious hours left until graduation were ticking away, and I had to start somewhere to rectify my wrongs.

_How odd, I mused_. I guess I did do what Phoebe wanted after all: to open up. It's funny how things can go if you're pushed far enough. That's twice already in one day, if I'm not mistaken…__

************************************ 

"So let me get this straight. You're going to Alaska?"

"Yup," I mumbled through a mouthful of egg. 

We were inside a booth at Slausen's, a spic-'n-span, nondescript enough of a restaurant. Appearances can be deceiving, though. Other than a waitress and assistant, Slausen himself ran the joint as a one-man cooking show, and boy, he could make a mean omelet. Luckily for us as well, the place was free and clear except for some truckers who were nursing cups of coffee before they headed back out on the highways, so service was pretty responsive.

"The entire summer?"

I bobbed my head affirmatively as I washed down my food with a glass of grape juice. 

"With your sister? The one you hate so much?"

"Mm-hmm."

"And you have a possible scholarship coming out of this trip? But you have to write a story, which you've never attempted for a contest before?"

Since my mouth wasn't full anymore, I snapped, "Yes, do I need to make it any plainer than I already have?"

Tish simply shook her head incredulously. "Helga, I understand how you feel," she clarified. "Hell, I must've come from a dysfunctional family myself if I can make heads or tails of your situation." Her eyes took on a distant gleam. "I had an older sister I didn't like either."

"You never told me about any sister," I uttered, furrowing my brow.

She smiled at me enigmatically. "There are a lot of things I don't generally share with other people."

_Kind of like me, I silently finished._

"Anyway, the point is that I never reconciled my differences with her," Tish continued. "We drifted apart too far for us to ever bridge the gap separating us." Noticing my scowl, she added tersely, "Don't look at me like that, Helga. I'm not giving you cliché advice here. I wouldn't dream of playing that violin of self-pity." 

"Too late, Tish. You already did," I pointed out, smirking at her slip of the tongue.

Considering that for a moment, she finally granted in a mock serious voice, "So I have. That was intentional, of course." 

"Right." I snickered at her attempt to joke with me.

Joining in with me, Tish and I laughed heartily with abandon, not paying heed to the stares around us. To be honest, it felt to break the tension of the Alaska story I'd just related to Tish. There were still the matters of Phoebe's relationship and the Arnold dilemma to tend to, but for some inexplicable reason, I held back on them both. After all the time I'd known her, I was painfully aware of some things I couldn't ever reveal to Tish, no matter how convincing she seemed. They would have to be faced tonight on my own. 

"See, Helga." Tish smiled at me again. "You just needed a little diversion." 

I decided to get back to the point, for the Alaska venture never loomed far behind. "Well, do you have some life experience hidden away as well in your bag of tricks? You seem old enough to at least garner a few passable ones." 

Tish pretended to be hurt by my flippant come-back. "Ouch, Helga, you never relent, do you?" she quipped.

Shaking my head, I drained the rest of my juice. "Nope."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way." Tish grew thoughtful again. "Okay, here's how I see it…"

*********************************

**Author's Note: I know this last scene seems short, but I cut it off here for a reason that will show itself in immediate chapters. Besides, this chapter was getting so long I had to end it somewhere. Oh, and about the _Hey _****_Arnold_****_!_ marathon this Saturday on CBS: go to Don's _Hey _****_Arnold_****_!_ page; there's good info about that particular event as well as some other things. Thanks again for reading!**


	12. Arnold: That's Just the Way the Story Go...

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: Yes, I know I updated on Friday. Extenuating circumstances forced me to put off updating until this day. However, I promise I'll go back on the Tuesday or Thursday update of each week I've set up for the next chapter. Anyway, this is the chapter I've been waiting for. It contains one of the first scenes I thought of before I developed the rest of the plot. I spent the last three chapters setting it up, and I've been dying to write it ever since. I really believe that it'll show a touching side of Arnold and Helga's relationship in the journey they're taking toward finally discovering each other. Of course, that doesn't mean there aren't a few surprises in store. Well, I better not give away too much, although I feel like I already have. Enjoy and keep on reviewing! **

**Arnold: That's Just the Way the Story Goes**

**_No I can't forget this evening  
Or your face as you were leaving  
But I guess that's just the way  
The story goes  
You always smile but in your eyes  
Your sorrow shows…_**

**_Mariah Carey, "Without You"_**

June 2001

"Iggy, you can't wear these sunglasses in the graduation ceremony!" Mrs. Skelter lectured sternly, wagging the contraband item in front of poor Iggy's bare eyes.

"Mm, mm, hmm!" Gerald uttered in a disparaging voice. "No wonder the boy wears those shades all the time."

Stinky wiggled his eyebrows wildly, which contrasted comically with his sharply spiked brown hair that poked out from beneath his cap. "Yeah, he's a dang freak of nature!" he proclaimed.

Although the both of them were obviously exaggerating, it was still pretty startling to behold his unusual eyes in the flesh. One was green and the other blue. This caught enough people off guard in a fascinated way that Iggy early on adopted his trademark eyewear. The aura of confidence and mystery he wrapped around himself soon evolved into the "cool kid" status we knew today. 

Nevertheless, there were times that he could blow his cover. Unlike other kids who might just brush it off, Iggy would become especially edgy. One occasion that came to mind was my betrayal of the fact that he wore bunny pajamas back in fourth grade. Everyone latched onto that humiliating secret and ran it into the ground. To this day, Iggy held a slight grudge against me for that.

"Come on, Mrs. Skelter," Iggy protested, trying one last ditch effort to retrieve his shades. "You let me have them on in class all the time." 

Mrs. Skelter's eyes hardened, an indicator she'd had enough. "Iggy, if I make an exception for you, I have to make an exception for everyone. You know certain clothing accessories aren't permitted, no matter what concessions I've allowed in the past. In fact, you were even warned about it this morning." 

Nearby, Curly scowled at the injustice of having to wash off the tiger stripes he'd painted on his face. He'd planned on paying a celebratory visit to the Hillwood City Zoo immediately after graduation. Upon liberating a couple of zebras and giraffes, though, Curly would naturally stop by Rhonda's party, since the hostess happened to be the object of his neurotic fixations.

In the corner on the other side of the room, Rhonda ignored Mrs. Skelter with equal disgruntlement. Denied free reign with her jewelry and shoe choices, she chattered away in some monologue to Nadine and Lila about the only other topic that could give her pleasure at the moment: her party. 

Our eighth grade teacher glared at the rest of us watching her and Iggy with great interest. "The show is over, class," she retorted dryly, marching off with the shades.

Gerald snapped his fingers. "Damn, just when it was getting good!" he muttered.

"Gerald…"

"Arnold, you need to chill," Gerald countered, grinning sheepishly. He faced Stinky. "Stinky, what about you? Are you anxious as hell to get this graduation over with…"

_How can I "chill" when I feel as taunt as a rubber band stretched all the way to its breaking point? I wondered, tuning Gerald's ranting out. I always got nervous before big events, and Gerald knew it. On the other hand, Gerald would get hyped up for things like this, a trait which I desperately envied at that moment._

I also felt kind of bad for Iggy, who'd turned to talk to Park, Lorenzo, and Peapod Kid. His sunglasses defined the very essence of his coolness, and he seemed lost without them for such an important event like graduation. Because of Gerald's recent severance with his own identifying ties of suaveness, his afro, I would've thought my best friend might've been more sympathetic. It certainly brought to mind the last time my little blue cap perched atop my head. _Everything's changing so fast, and graduation is one more reminder of that, _I mused thoughtfully, briefly being overwhelmed by sorrowful feeling tightening my throat… 

Phoebe, who was gazing out the window, abandoned her stance there and strolled over to the small cluster that consisted of Stinky, Gerald, and me. She tugged on my gown sleeve gently bringing me back to the present. Tapping her wristwatch, Phoebe shook her head.

"Helga's still not here!" I hissed in disbelief. "Phoebe, there's only twenty minutes left until graduation begins!"

"I believe Mr. Simmons just went to find her."

Glancing around, I realized Phoebe was correct. Only Mrs. Skelter was monitoring the eighth graders' mill around the classroom. _This is getting ridiculous, _I thought with a mixture of anger and concern. _That's one more person chasing after Helga Pataki!_

My own pursuit had started with the end of our meeting about graduation regulations this morning. Ever since I'd promised Phoebe that I would talk some sense into Helga, I had been watching her like a hawk for the perfect opportunity to fulfill my agreement. When Helga tossed her program aside, I figured this was my chance. I ran after Helga under the pretense of giving her the discarded program so that I could invite her to come along bowling with Gerald, Phoebe, and me. However, Helga was meeting Tish Wittenberg, her old bowling coach, for breakfast at Slausen's. I backed down with the reasoning that perhaps Tish might talk Helga into a game of bowling after they ate, thereby putting her into my line of vision anyway. The pair never showed during the two hours Gerald, Phoebe, and me were playing. 

By lunchtime, I returned to the boarding house. All the boarders except Oskar had gone to work, of course. As usual, "because the boarding house doesn't run by itself," Grandpa found enough chores to do to keep me busy for couple of hours while fending off Oskar's advances on the refrigerator. I didn't mind too much, for I knew my grandparents needed all the help they could get in maintaining our rundown home the best way they could. Since Grandma was dressed as a martial arts master today, she'd holed herself up in one of the spare bedrooms to practice her moves, leaving the kitchen blessedly free. Every time I passed that room on this errand or that, I could hear Grandma's horrible guttural yells emitting through the thin walls, and I would smile, recalling the time she'd taught me self-defense methods after I'd been mugged.

At around five o'clock, the loose threads of the paths of the boarding house's occupants started to come together into the tightly knitted family unit we formed whenever one of us had a special occasion, which, in this case, was my graduation. Ernie, Suzie, and Mr. Hyunh slowly trickled in one by one and headed upstairs to change. Grandpa finally released me from chore duty in order to cajole Grandma out of her room to see "grasshopper" graduate. I escaped into my room to slip into my graduation outfit that consisted of khaki pants and a red button-down shirt and even succeeded in gelling my unruly hair to a decent level of tameness. When I emerged, freshly scrubbed to my satisfaction, everyone was gathered at the foot of the retractable stairs, congratulating me. From behind Grandpa's back materialized a graduation present they'd all chipped in on: a leather-bound journal with the phrase _Memory Book inscribed on the front. Evidently, its purpose was to be memento piece of tonight that would join the rest of my life's keepsakes on the shelves above my bed. _

For as happy as I was, though, there was still that nagging part of my brain constantly reminding me of the unresolved matters with Helga. Somewhere in the course of my day, I did manage to call her house twice. All I got the first time was a busy signal, and Mr. Pataki answered the second time, crisply warning me not to interrupt his conference call again. After that reprimand, I wisely chose to abandon that avenue of communication. The new plan I'd developed was to waylay Helga during our half-hour wait in the eighth grade classroom right before graduation. Now, with her no-show appearance so far, I was beginning to wonder if Helga was going to miss her own graduation. _What is her problem? I thought. __Is she really going to let her pride get in the way of a milestone as important as graduation?_

"Arnold, I'm not sure about what's going to happen now," Phoebe remarked sadly. "Perhaps I never should have-"

Knowing what she was about to say, something inside of me snapped. I'd had enough of Helga's childish behavior. "No, Phoebe," I refuted fiercely. "Helga has no right whatsoever to make you feel guilty about dating Gerald. He's a great guy, and she should be nothing but happy for you." I swallowed hard, remembering my failed attempt on Wednesday to get Lila to go out with me. "God knows I am."

"Then what should be done?" Phoebe questioned, studying me carefully.

"If Helga has yet to show her face here tonight, I'm going to get to the bottom of this, if it's the last thing I do," I vowed in a heated whisper.

Phoebe was silent for a moment. "If it's the last thing you do, huh?" she echoed, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You mean before you wake up in intensive care?"

_That sounds like Helga, all right, I thought, shaking my head. _

"Arnold, Gerald's right. You really do need to relax," she continued, smiling widely.

Chagrined, I knew that she, like Gerald, did have a valid point. _Now I know why Phoebe irritates Helga at times, I realized. Phoebe had a dead-on sense of discernment that resulted from her observant nature. For someone as secretive as Helga wanted to be, such close scrutinization couldn't have sat well with her._

"I just hope everything works out for you guys, Phoebe," I sighed. "Both of you deserve it."

She cocked her head at me thoughtfully. "Trust me, the real Helga I know is buried beneath that façade she's putting up, and if I know anything about you, Arnold, it's that you can bring out the best in anyone."

"It's my sunny optimism, I'm sure," I joked, chuckling. 

_It's funny how I can laugh at something that caused me discomfort only last week, I noted._

Gerald whipped his head around at my audible form of amusement. "What are you two whispering about over there? Not about me, I hope?"

Phoebe flashed a quick smile my way and whirled around to face Gerald. "We were just agreeing that the overall objective of Mrs. Skelter's confiscation mission wasn't to provide you with a source of entertainment-" 

Her boyfriend raised an eyebrow in surprise at this and interrupted briskly, "A joke at my expense about the fact I made a joke at somebody else's expense? How ironic." Shaking his head, he switched subjects. "Phoebe, did I tell you yet tonight that you look great?"

She seemed to blush a little at the compliment. Indeed, with her choppy bob free of its usual bun and sparkling eyes unadorned by thick glasses, Phoebe did appear quite striking.

"Thank you, Gerald," she replied softly, but she winked at me.

_Gerald will never be able to completely bowl her over with his smooth-talking, _I noted, smiling. _Phoebe's wise to that trick._

"I must admit I like your new hairstyle, Gerald," Phoebe continued.

"It does suit me, doesn't it?" Gerald adjusted his cap over his closely cropped head.

I rolled my eyes at his exaggeration. Then again, he had been getting a lot of comments about the hair lately.

Stinky confirmed this with his broad grin. "It's downright snazzy, Gerald."

"You know, Gerald, it's too bad there aren't any good P.S. 118 graduation tales," Sid lamented as he ambled up to our group with Harold in tow.

Harold frowned. "Yeah, and it totally sucks there isn't going to be any food at this thing!" he grumbled, crossing his arms over his bulky middle. "I'm hungry!"

"Gentlemen, you've come to the right place," Gerald flamboyantly professed. He glanced over his shoulder at me. "Arnold."

I knew exactly what my best friend was asking for. _There goes my last Big Red, _I thought, reaching through a slit cut into the side of my gown for the pack of gum nestled in my khaki pants pocket. Believe me, because of its short-lived flavor, you went through a pack of Big Red like a person with a cold uses up a box of Kleenex. Besides, it didn't help that everyone was coming to me for a stick once they found out I had some gum.

"Here, Harold." I pressed the entire contents of my pocket into his palm.

His face lit up as he shoved the Big Red into his mouth and threw the foil away in the trash can along the wall behind us. "Thanks, Arnold, I needed that," Harold sighed contentedly, chomping loudly.

Gerald clapped a hand on Sid's shoulder. "Now, Sid, I believe you mentioned something about a good story. While I can't say I know any specific one concerning P.S. 118 graduations, Fuzzy Slippers, my main man- besides Arnold, of course- recently hooked me up with some more righteous urban tales."

"Spin us one of your rip-roaring yarns!" Stinky urged excitedly.

At this, several kids wandered over, curious. _Here it comes, _I thought wryly. Like Grandpa, Gerald was in his prime when relating anecdotes, especially cautionary tales of allegedly true extraordinary events. In fact, Gerald's specialty was on P.S. 118's own traditions, which had been instilled into him by the grade school's last keeper of tales: Fuzzy Slippers, a current junior at West Hillwood High. At any rate, the public speaking showed off his oratory skills nicely and made him even more popular. I admired his ease with large audiences, for I was more comfortable with smaller groups, preferably even one-on-one to be most effective with my message.

"Gerald, do you need me to set up anything?" Sid inquired eagerly. He always introduced Gerald's stories.

My best friend considered this for a moment, his eye roving over to the clock above us on the wall. "Nah. There isn't enough time to get into a story right now." He smiled deviously. "In fact, I'll let everyone stew for a while until I can lay on a really good one at Rhonda's party!" 

Amidst the good-natured clamoring that followed arose one voice of approval. "You have impeccable timing, Mr. Johanssen. There's only seven minutes left until the ceremony starts."

We all turned toward the speaker. Mr. Simmons was walking through the classroom door. Next to him was someone that caused everyone to stare in surprise. Within seconds, the momentary silence was broken by subdued whispering and tittering. 

Helga Pataki stood impassive to all the attention. Instead of the usual ponytail she wore, her long blonde hair cascaded down her back in loose curls, the cap on her head slightly skewered to one side. The gown she was decked out in seemed to be in need of a good smoothing-out. _Helga must've been in a big hurry, _I guessed, noticing her hard intake of air as if she were out of breath. _Man, I seriously misjudged her, after all. _

Mrs. Skelter voiced the silent question we all had on the tips of our tongues. "Why is Helga here so late?"

"Helga explained it all to me, Mrs. Skelter," Mr. Simmons assured her in his carefully even voice. "There was an automobile accident on the overpass exit ramp. Traffic around the immediate area was held up for about a half an hour in order to clear up the wreck, and Helga's family happened to be caught in it. Of course, it's too soon to know the full extent of damage that been inflicted on both the victims and vehicles involved." With that, he clapped his hands together enthusiastically. "Get frosty!"

At Mr. Simmons' signal to line up, my class seemed to forget about Helga's dramatic entrance, even though they'd been aware of her tardiness right from the get-go. The air became electric with the excitement of graduation being so close to starting. We noisily shifted into our proper single-file order with both teachers directing us as necessary.

My eyes riveted over to Helga with almost a will of their own. She stood stiffly between Rhonda and Nadine, her face the perpetual mask of abstruseness she always wore. However, when her blue-gray eyes met mine briefly, there was a telltale hint of despondency in them before they toughened into the hard expression I knew too well.

_I only hope the Helga Phoebe spoke of isn't impenetrable under all the layers of fronts she puts up, _I mused as we began to file out of the eighth grade classroom toward the gym.

****************************************************************************************

Did you ever notice how time runs on an intermittent scale whenever you build up anticipation for an event? That was what happened as we entered the gym, which was packed with people watching us expectantly. The place was completely hushed except for the piano music played to the tune of P.S. 118's school song that helped us march in time across the main aisle. Once in a while during our painstaking parade, a random camera would briefly flash in the dimly lit distance. A few of us attempted to search for our families in the sea of faces, but quickly gave up that activity when it became too confusing.

In front, two rows of sixteen chairs were arranged at an angle to the right. Next to the seats was a wooden podium swathed in a blue banner bearing the words _P.S. 118 Class of 2001. The diplomas and awards were stacked neatly on a long table covered in a blue velvet cloth. Principal Wartz, Superintendent Chaplin, and the Board of Education members stood behind that table, their chairs poised in the same area._

Things slowed down considerably more once we sat down. Respectively, Superintendent Chaplin, the Board of Education President, and Principal Warz all had their own speeches. This formality only made the oppressing heat seem to permeate the very atmosphere of the gym. Many a person began to use his or her program as a fan. I also noticed the numerous pairs of eyes that glazed over as boredom overtook the crowd.

Fortunately, the pace quickened as the award portion of the graduation ceremony approached. As the eighth grade class already knew, Phoebe, Lorenzo, and Peapod Kid received the majority of them. There was that occasional honor, though, that would deviate from the established pattern. For instance, Lila won the citizenship award, which I believed she rightly deserved. 

Then the roll call of graduates came next. For everyone, this was the moment we'd all been anxiously awaiting. Cameras went off like crazy, surrounding my class in a brilliant daze of light that left the unpleasant aftereffect of spots before our eyes. I was surprised that no one stumbled as we progressed through the diploma distribution.

Laced in with the polite applause that followed each graduate were the cheers of his or her own family and friends. Of course, students from P.S. 118's lower grades were present as well, lending their customary rowdy comments to the mix. 

The ceremony ended with a short closing speech by the class valedictorian, Phoebe Heyerdahl. Despite her retiring, soft-spoken nature, the clear and concise manner in which she expressed herself in that address impressed me. In fact, the last few sentences that she spoke still ring through my memory to this day: "A Chinese proverb states, 'The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials.' So it is with us, the Class of 2001, as we advance into the realm of high school. There we will face challenges that will invite us to new levels of excellence. How each of us utilizes those challenges, though, is entirely up to that individual."

Phoebe paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on Helga in the back row. I could sense the tension between them caused by the double-edged message in Phoebe's words. Although both girls' faces remained emotionless, their eyes betrayed the hurt they were feeling inside.

Again, my indignation at Helga for inflicting unnecessary pain on someone who so obviously cared about her strengthened my resolve to make my peace with her. _I'm going to corner Helga at Rhonda's party, no matter what, I decided._

Before the break in the flow of her oration stretched too long, Phoebe cleared her throat and extolled, "Even so, one thing is already certain: we will never forget our years here at P.S. 118, for we came together as strangers but leave as eternal friends." She smiled and grasped the edge of her cap. "Congratulations, Class of 2001!"

Sixteen caps ascended into the air at this. Our class was immediately joined on the floor by the swarming throngs. General chaos ensued, yet I somehow managed to fight my way over to Lila. She was standing off to the side with her father, a burly red-haired man.

"Hello, Arnold," Lila greeted, smiling at me as I approached.

For a second, I was dazzled by that smile, too tongue-tied to respond at first. If anything, Lila appeared at her most beautiful tonight. Her auburn hair was pulled back into an elegant upsweep, a few strands framing her face. Despite the fact that most of the eighth graders' gowns came across as baggy on their bodies, Lila's seemed to complement her figure perfectly…

Mr. Sawyer suddenly inquired in his strangely melodious voice, "You okay, son?" He peered at me strangely.

_Come on, __Arnold__, don't spaz out now, I scolded myself. __Just pay your respects to Mr. Sawyer and Lila like you planned. It's not as if you've never met the two of them before. _

I smiled at Lila's father with a confidence I didn't possess at the moment. "Uh…Mr. Sawyer," I answered breezily, "Lila told me the other day that you landed an excellent job over in Seattle."

"Yes, I did," he verified. "A good friend of mine happened to hear of a temporary banking position that's part of a big inventory done at the beginning of summer."

"Well, I hope everything works out for you there."

"Thank you, Arnold, I appreciate the thought," he replied a bit quietly.

Everyone in my class knew about his sketchy work history, but that didn't make Lila any less liked among her peers. I especially went out of my way over the years to be courteous to Mr. Sawyer. As a result, he and I carried on decent enough conversations. 

Lila hugged her father lightly. "Don't worry, Arnold, I'm oh-too-certain we'll get along just fine. In fact, I'm looking forward to seeing Seattle again." 

"Lila's right, I'm afraid," Mr. Sawyer agreed, beaming with pride at her. "She's always had a knack for looking after me." He shook his head. "My daughter takes after her mother in that respect."

I watched the two of them exchange a sad knowing expression between each other. My heart went out to Lila's heartache for losing her mother at such a tender age. 

"Daddy, it's time to go," Lila announced abruptly, glancing at her wristwatch. "Our train leaves at nine, and it's already almost eight-thirty." 

"By golly, you're right again, Lila!" Mr. Sawyer exclaimed, checking his own wristwatch for confirmation. "It's a good thing our luggage is already out in the car, or else we might be running late." He extended his hand out to me. "Congratulations on your graduation, Arnold."

"Thank you, sir." I pumped his hand heartily. Turning to Lila, I added, "Good-bye, Lila."

"Good-bye, Arnold," she uttered warmly, shaking my hand as well. "See you next month!"

As they strolled away, I sighed in relief. _One hard task off my to-do list, one more to go, _I thought ruefully as Helga's face entered my mind…

From behind me a familiar voice cackled, "Hey, short man!"

Whirling around, I spotted my grandparents a brief distance away from me. "Hi, Grandma, Grandpa!" I cried happily as I ambled up to them.

Grandpa's face broke out into a broad grin. "We're real proud of you, boy," he praised. "Yep, now we both have our grade school diplomas, Arnold."

Back in the 1920's, right before the onset of the Great Depression, Grandpa had to drop out of elementary school and get a job in order to support his family. With my help, he later returned to P.S. 118 to finish up fourth through sixth grade, which was as far as our school used to go. In the last couple of years, though, the Hillwood City Junior High decided to consolidate seventh and eighth grade with all the area grade schools so that the school districts would receive more federal funding.

Still dressed as a martial arts master in her white tunic and pants, Grandma bowed to me, bending deeply at the waist as she did so. "Grasshopper, you have prepared a long time for this day, and in doing so, you have used your training well," she commended me gravely. "You have brought honor to our house." With that, she promptly wandered away.

_And graduation wouldn't be the same if you weren't here to brighten it up in your own way, Grandma, _I silently answered, shaking my head knowingly.

"Thanks." Noticing the diminished crowding of the gym, I asked, "Where are the boarders?" 

"Oh, they left me their regards for you and went back to Sunset Arms," Grandpa reported blandly, waving his hand dismissively, "because all of them have to work early tomorrow." His face crumpled into a distasteful frown. "Except for that swindling louse, Kokoshka, of course. I'm telling you, he'd better not have gotten into my secret stash of shrimp cocktail by the time I get back, or there'll be hell to pay!" 

"I see."

_Oh, well, _I thought, slightly disappointed. I had been looking forward to talking to Ernie, Mr. Hyunh, Suzie, and Oskar. 

"Anyway, just because you can't mingle with the boarders doesn't mean the night's over yet. Don't you have a party to go to?" Grandpa questioned me closely.

"Yes," I admitted, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach at the idea in spite of my earlier resolve. "It's supposed to start at nine." 

Grandpa pulled out the keys to his Packard from his blue suit's pants pocket. "Then let's roll, short man!" Heading toward Grandma, who was punching a rolled up P.E. mat stacked along a far wall, he ordered me gruffly, "But first help me retrieve Pookie!" 

***************************************************************************************** 

"Arnold, thank you for coming to my little get-together," Rhonda cooed as she opened the front door to her huge posh home.

"Thank you, Rhonda," I replied briskly.

_How many times have I said "thank you" tonight? _I wondered, stepping into the foyer. _I've lost count long ago._

"Everyone's in the other room," Rhonda informed me cheerfully, sweeping her hand toward her spacious living room. "There are refreshments available on the bar if you're hungry. My butler will be pleased to serve you." 

Simply nodding my head, I followed Rhonda into the party. In the half-hour since graduation, my classmates had gotten rid of their caps and gowns to reveal the outfits they were wearing underneath. Grandpa had swung by the boarding house to let me drop off my own cap and gown, so I was a few minutes late. 

Gerald was delivering his promised urban legend to an enraptured audience, who were completely ignoring the refreshment-laden bar Rhonda had spoken of. "Not so long ago, two teenagers drove alone to a well-known hideaway lovers' spot outside of a city not unlike our own." He grinned. "They took advantage of their isolation to heavily steam up the windows of their car, if you know what I mean."

Several of the boys hooted enthusiastically, while the girls rolled their eyes in disgust.

My best friend continued without missing a beat. "However, it turned out that the young couple wasn't so alone, after all…"

Quickly I surveyed the people gathered around Gerald. None of them were Helga. _That means there can only be one other where she might be, _I realized.

From an experience I'd garnered over the years at past parties, I strode past everyone straight through the open French doors that led to Rhonda's balcony. Just as I suspected, Helga Pataki stood with her back to me at the balcony's edge, her arms dangling over the intricately wrought white railing. Also without her cap and gown, she was attired in a lacy, wine-colored dress whose hemline reached the tops of her black chunky-heeled sandals.

Strangely enough, even though I'd been trying to catch Helga off guard, she still caught me off guard simply with her presence. _I guess she's had plenty of years to intimidate me, _I mused. _Well, this is one time she's not going to succeed._

With this surge of determination, I somehow found my voice. "Helga?"

She spun around on her heel, not at all startled by my intrusion. "How's it going, football head?" she sneered.

That familiar torture term irritated me to no end. "Helga, you called me by my first name this morning, so I know you're capable of basic civility," I snapped.

Her eyes clouded over for a moment before she shrugged nonchalantly. "Is that so, _Arnold_?" Helga shot back. "Well, it appears that some people I know are capable of other things as well."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, confused.

"Come on, do you think I'm that stupid?" Helga scoffed, folding her arms across her chest defensively. "I'm on to your little scheme with Phoebe. Why else would I be out here all by myself?"

_To trap me, _I silently finished as I put two and two together. Helga had figured out Phoebe's request for me! Suddenly I regretted using that dumb discarded program excuse to run after her this morning. It had made me look too obvious. I also wondered if she'd found out about the phone calls I'd made during the afternoon. 

Now, with this realization, the roles in the elusive cat-and-mouse game we'd been playing seemed to have blurred. Who really had the upper hand here?

"Phoebe's concerned about you, Helga," I blurted out.

Helga snorted derisively. "Please spare me that line of bullshit, bucko. Phoebe's going to be anxious about everything, even if there's nothing legit to worry about. It's just her nature."

_How can you still be so callous after everything's that's happened? _I thought incredulously.

"You're not being fair," I argued. "You've been ignoring your best friend when she needs your support the most."

"What do you know about me, Arnoldo?" she spat nastily, her eyes blazing in anger. "I'll tell you: not a damn thing. So don't insult me by forcing your half-baked assumptions on me."

As much as I didn't want to admit it, Helga was right; that was what simultaneously intrigued and baffled me about her. In fact, this quality was probably the reason why I'd been so driven to confront Helga about her recent troubles, whatever they may have been.

"I don't believe you're put off by only the decision Phoebe made to go out with Gerald," I persisted, going upon the tentative information Phoebe had supplied me with.

Shaking her head, Helga laughed bitterly. "I bet Phoebe put you up to that one, too, huh?"

"Helga, there's something obviously wrong if you're shutting out even Phoebe," I reasoned.

Helga glared at me darkly; I met the full brunt of her gaze head-on. _All right, I'm going to pull out all the stops, if that's what you want, I decided._

"Phoebe told me that you stopped talking to her right after you said you had to speak with Mr. Pataki one day last week," I revealed, letting the words roll out swiftly. "She thought your father upset you somehow, but you wouldn't come to her because of feeling left out about her new relationship with Gerald. That's why Phoebe asked me to approach you."

_This situation is even weirder when you consider that Helga has continued to talk to me, of all people she must want to avoid the most, _I thought, remembering Wednesday night in Tina Park.

Starting at my words, Helga was silent for a few seconds, the retort on her lips dying out as quickly as it'd popped into her mind. At last she tersely demanded, "And what about you, Arnold? Why are you doing this? Am I one of your pity cases that you took on for your do-goody kicks?"

Her blue-gray eyes burned with a strange intensity, almost as if there was a hidden question smoldering inside those orbs just out of my reach. I'd seen this gaze only whenever Helga was truly serious about anything, a sign that she'd allowed herself to open up to me.

Then I realized something else that had been apparent to everyone else but me. Indeed, it was the only solution to my dilemma with Helga, or at least the most fitting conclusion to the complications arising from Gerald and Phoebe's relationship. _Grandpa, suddenly your story about Aunt Mitzi and Grandma makes a lot more sense, _I thought, bemused.

To be honest, though, I still wasn't sure whether or not Helga would go along with my proposal. Nevertheless, if there was ever a moment in which Helga was especially receptive, this was it.

Taking a deep breath, I responded quietly, "Helga, I'm sick of the fighting and mocking we've done to each other over the years, and I know you must be, too. Can't we end it now?" I fixed my eyes on her steadfastly. "Can't we be friends? I'm willing to start over if you are."

Helga didn't give an answer at first. Instead, she turned away from me to face the city spread before us from the view on the balcony. I couldn't say that I blamed her. After all, I was asking her to go a step further than our original agreement, so I was pretty certain this new suggestion was as foreign to her as it was to me.

Inside, the sound of music playing blended together with the idle chatter of our classmates. _I guess Gerald ran out of urban legends, _I thought, shrugging. _Yet just a short distance away, everything here has stopped still._

I watched Helga for what seemed like forever, although in reality the tension probably lasted only a couple of minutes. Finally, she whirled around. The rage that'd possessed her earlier had abruptly disappeared, leaving her drained in its wake. In short, Helga Pataki appeared…well, vulnerable. The realization amazed me.

"All right, Arnold, I'll level with you," she sighed heavily, sinking into a nearby chaise lounge.

Cautiously, I took a seat across from Helga's, patiently waiting for her to continue. 

She avoided my eyes as she uttered in a small voice, "I'm going to Alaska."

Stunned, I felt as if the balcony floor had dropped out from under me. "Alaska?" I repeated.

Surprisingly, Helga snapped to attention at my reply. "That's right," she retorted crisply, "a one-way ticket to hell all summer with Olga, courtesy of my father."

At this, the missing pieces of the puzzle that were Helga's actions fell into place.

"Helga, it can't be that bad," I reassured her, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. "I'm sure there's an upside to it all."

Helga frowned. "I can't argue with that, Arnold. Dad has his new business partner in some schmo called Smith down in Dallas."

"That's weird," I commented, a recent recollection coming to mind. "A Mr. Smith lives at my boarding house, and he left a few days ago for Dallas."

"Is he extremely obsessive about his privacy?" Helga inquired, her unibrow arching in curiosity. "Deals with a huge satellite company?"

"Um…yeah."

There was no doubt about it; we were talking about the same guy. Helga couldn't have otherwise known those particular details about Mr. Smith.

"Well, I've said it once, and I'll say it again: it's a funny, small world, after all," she declared, smirking.

_Tell me about it, _I thought with equal amusement.

"Anyway, Bob's not the only one here who's going to profit from this summer," Helga added, smiling enigmatically.

"What are you going to do?" I asked carefully, afraid of the devious scheme she'd hatched.

Helga's grin widened. "Don't worry, Arnold, it's all legit. Simmons offered me a chance to enter a short story contest that's being done by Yahoo Soda. There are five hundred scholarships of a thousand bucks a piece to be given out, so I chose the Alaska trip as my personal experience to write about."

"I didn't know you were a writer," I blurted out, surprised.

"I'm not. I'm a poet, mostly."

"Really?" I echoed, even more amazed.

Oddly, Helga appeared uncomfortable. "I guess I'm decent enough. I mean, I've won a poetry competition here and there." She snickered. "As long as there's money involved, I'm willing to try my hand at something."

Somehow Helga's laugh seemed forced and her word hollow. _I can't stand to see Helga put herself down, _I thought sadly. _Her parents have done it so long now that she doesn't have any faith in her abilities._

"I'd be interested in eventually reading your Alaska story if you don't mind," I requested tentatively.

Helga eyed me warily. "No offense, Arnold, but I didn't come here to have a brainstorming session with you. I'll have plenty of time for that once Monday rolls around."

"You leave Monday?" I questioned closely, a scheme forming in my mind.

"Yeah, she confirmed with a note of finality in her voice on the subject. "Now, do my ears deceive me, or is that No Doubt's 'Hella Good'starting to play?"

I stood up. "You want to go back into to listen to it?" I suggested, jerking my head in the direction of the living room.

"Are you kidding?" Helga exclaimed, practically jumping out of her seat. "No Doubt's only my favorite band of all time. Gwen Stefani is, after all, a famous blonde that's actually _smart_."

Laughing at her remarks, I noticed that some of the kids had begun to dance to the tune. An idea spontaneously popped into my head.

"Hey, Helga, you want to start a conga line?"

She grinned at me. "Sure, football head," she agreed, shrugging. "I guess you don't have anything else better to do with Lila gone, huh?"

For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to be mad at Helga's flippant come-back. _I have a feeling this is the beginning of a very strange friendship, _I mused as I followed Helga inside. _And I know just where to start…_

**Author's Note: Okay, there are a couple of things I want to clear up. First of all, the length. Sorry, but it had to be this long in order to get my purpose across for the chapter. I promise it won't be near as bad for the next chapter. Anyway, I needed to tell the H/A moment from ****Arnold****'s point of view because it wouldn't have made sense for Helga to do it, and there's something else that will happen in the next chapter as a direct result of this particular scene. Plus, I wanted to convey a sense of mystery around Helga's next actions to the ****Alaska**** situation because of the cliffhanger I had in chapter 11. Well, there are some things that are apparent and others that aren't. Yes, I've been hinting at something that's been plaguing Arnold, but what is it exactly? If anyone wants to, take a stab at it in your review. Remember, it's going to be important to the story and especially central to fully understanding ****Arnold**'s character. At any rate, except for the first H/A moment of the story, it's been a while since I've told an H/A moment from ******Arnold****'s point of view, and I felt like doing it. Thanks again for reading! **


	13. Helga: See What You Get

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: Okay, another chapter, another author's note. Things are going to get very interesting from now on. You'll see what I mean by the time you get done reading this. I'm also going to address some reviewers:**

**Amelia Badelia: I've been updating every Tuesday or Thursday of each week for a while. As of now (due to more end of the semester homework/term paper deadlines), though, I have no official update day except that I'll try to get a new chapter out once a week. Lastly, I suppose I'll quit apologizing for long chapters; lol.**

**Chicken-luuver:Yeah, I know I have some spelling and grammatical errors (mostly typos) that'll pop up along the way. Please bear with me if it happens, because I do try to filter them out the best I can. I think I've been doing a decent job so far, since you guys have been able to read my story well enough to understand what's going on, right? As far as Dino Spumoni and Headless Cabbie references go, I might be able to pull off something in the near future if I can fit it somehow into my story. Kind of like how Gerald's love of urban legends showed up in the middle of graduation last chapter.**

**Willy D.: Thanks so much for your words of encouragement (No bout adoubt it; lol), because you helped me get through a temporary writer's block I was having for this chapter. I also did find out some information on "April Fools Day" after all. You'll see what I used it for in this chapter.**

**Jae****: Hmm… those "stream of consciousness" writers that you talked about in your story remind me of a novel I read once with a technique like that: _Wuthering Heights. Am I wrong? Please tell me if I am._**

**Pointy Objects: I don't think I'm going to take a stab at telemarketers for a while, but thanks for your blessing all the same. **

**Itzjustme****: Happy Thanksgiving, too! By the way, my own eyes hurt at times when I'm typing these chapters out. **

**Silently pensive: Here's Helga's thoughts in this chapter on the Alaska trip and some other things, especially one scene that I promised in chapter 12 would happen because of Arnold and Helga agreeing to become friends. **

**And a big thanks to everyone else who has reviewed so far. Enjoy and keep on reviewing!**

**Helga: See What You Get**

**_Take your head around the world_**

**_See what you get_**

**_From your mind_**

**_Write your soul down word for word_**

**_See who's your friend_**

**_Who is kind…_**

**_Matchbox 20, "You Won't Be Mine"_**

****

June 2001

_A performance deserving of standing ovations_

_And who would've thought it'd be the two of us?_

_So don't wake me if I'm dreaming…_

_No wonder I like No Doubt so much, _I thought as I listened to "Hella Good," one of my favorite band's songs. _Somebody had me in mind for specifically tonight when this thing was written._

Directly behind me, Arnold was passing through a set of French doors into Rhonda's living room. Our class was staggered around its amble space, either dancing or talking to each other amidst the blaring strains of No Doubt's tune. Luckily, hardly anyone batted an eye in our direction, because I knew I wouldn't have been able to keep the deep crimson flush from plastering my face like a huge billboard sign.

Naturally, the exception to this pattern was Phoebe. She'd stationed herself very conveniently next to the stereo system belting out the CD, for it happened to fully face the balcony entrance. Since she couldn't implicate her usual partner of late in the heinous crime of spying on me, she'd snared another unwitting pawn in her web: Gerald. The two of them were chatting as if they were lost in each other's company, but I knew Phoebe had an eye peeled for any action from Arnold's and my arena.

_Damn you, Phoebe Heyerdahl, _I silently cursed her. _You knew this night was a long time in coming, and you just had to speed it along, didn't you…_

Arnold interrupted my inner ranting with a tap on my shoulder. Spinning around, I was confronted with his lopsided smile. Like always, his nearness weakened me in the knees. Suddenly, all the profanity I'd ever learned didn't seem adequate enough to describe the wretchedness of my cliché response. 

"Okay, Helga, if this conga line is going to pan out, we have to gain some support so that it catches on," Arnold determined in a low voice.

"And how do we accomplish that feat?" I questioned, raising my unibrow at him in anticipation. Although the whole idea was somewhat goofy, it was still pure fun, and I hadn't had that kind of abandonment in a while, which was why I'd agreed to it in the first place. 

"We'll start with Phoebe and Gerald, of course," he clarified.

"Great plan, football head," I muttered behind Arnold's back as we headed toward the couple.

Currently, Phoebe and Gerald were about the last people I wanted to encounter. There would be questions once they found out about the new deal Arnold and I had struck, and I wasn't sure I could withstand the interrogation just yet. Inside, I was still reeling from my moment alone with Arnold on the balcony. Before I could risk further exposure, I had to have some time to collect myself after being so painfully and necessarily unraveled by Arnold…

_Oh, come on, Helga, _a voice in my head coaxed me. _This is inevitable anyway, and it's better to handle it now rather than later._

That was easier said than done. To my chagrin, Arnold abruptly called out, "Hey, Gerald!"

Gerald whipped his head around, startled by his best friend's interruption. "Uh…hey, Arnold," he replied, his eyes darting questioningly from Arnold to me.

Phoebe had also turned to stare at us with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. "Hello, Arnold."

For one brief, mad moment, I seriously considered bailing in order to escape the impending debacle that was written all over this picture. Then I realized that I was acting like a complete dumb-ass. Why, I was a master at improvisation. Surely I could bullshit my way through this if Arnold didn't already have something up his sleeve, which, by this point, I suspected that he did. 

_Here goes nothing, bucko, _I thought, slamming Old Betsy into the Five Avengers' open palm. _This should be interesting. _

I quickly covered the short distance I'd created when trailing Arnold over to Gerald and Phoebe, complaining as I went, "I can't believe this party is duller than afternoon tea with my granny!"

"Really, Helga? What would you suggest to shake things up?" Gerald asked dryly, looking as if he wanted me to take a hike off of Rhonda's balcony.

"Like you care what I think," I felt like snapping at the asshole, but I held my tongue. After all, I did owe "basic civility" to the guy, for he played a major dual role in the lives of the two people I cared about the most. Gerald wasn't going to disappear just because I wanted him to. However, that didn't mean I was going to vanish, either, and I was going to make that message loud and clear.

"Actually, Gerald, Arnold came up with something while he was speaking to me," I shot back.

Just as I'd suspected, Gerald was taken aback by my pert answer. Phoebe ducked her head to hide her visible amusement in the form of a knowing grin. Arnold simply watched me from out of his half-lidded eyes.

"You talked to Helga, Arnold?" Gerald echoed in disbelief.

"Well…yeah," Arnold confirmed, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Without almost killing each other?" Gerald pressed.

"We're standing here before you, aren't we?" 

_Great, this could take a while if I don't step in, _I thought, irritated by Gerald's denseness and Arnold's vagueness. 

"I know what you're thinking, Gerald," I blurted out. "No, I'm not a total bitch. I can carry on a normal conversation once in a while. Criminy!"

Gerald studied Arnold and me with a new interest. "Man, I never thought I'd see the day when Helga and Arnold could stand each other's presence for more than two seconds."

"Yes, it is quite unexpected," Phoebe chimed in, her smile growing even wider.

_Nice job, Helga, _I scolded myself. _They're approaching territory you don't need covered yet, and all because you opened your damn mouth. Where's a healthy dose of __Arnold__'s do-goody blabbing when you need it? _

I glared at the two of them, adopting my trademark scowl. "Don't start getting any ideas. We're not the best of friends all of a sudden just because we didn't duke it out this once. The old football head here is especially gushy without little miss perfect to hang on, and I felt sorry enough for his pathetic ass to actually listen to him for a few minutes." For good measure, I turned on Arnold to add, "Don't say that I did you any favors, though, Arnold!"

"I didn't, did I, Helga?" he responded calmly, that characteristic good-natured expression glued on his face.

God, I swore that boy sometimes hid behind his frustrating dreamer's persona in much the same way I exploited my spiteful bully reputation so that no one could clearly comprehend what he was thinking. _Dr. Bliss was right, _I thought ruefully. _We are more alike than even I knew. I mean, we both want to remain a mystery at times, which makes me wonder again: what are __Arnold__'s true intentions here?_

For an unprecedented second time that night, I decided to place my trust in Arnold and see where it progressed. "Just spit out your idea for these two, would you?" I requested, holding back some of the venom I usually pumped into such remarks.

Phoebe and Gerald exchanged a confused look with each other. I didn't doubt that Gerald attributed my inconsistencies to my extreme weirdness and would think no more of it than absolutely necessary. On the other hand, Phoebe would suspect something was up, but she wouldn't press the matter until later if she knew what was good for her, and I'm sure she was aware of that from experience.

Luckily, Arnold smoothly took the reigns of the conversation out of my bumbling, intrusive hands. "How does starting a conga line sound to you guys?" he suggested in an upbeat voice.

Gerald's face immediately lit up, and I heaved a shallow sigh of relief. "Good one, man!" he commended. "Too bad I didn't come up with it on my own."

"Yes, it does seem rather diverting," Phoebe agreed, watching me carefully.

"I'll go plant the idea into Rhonda's head," Gerald declared as we all glanced at the princess herself. "We'll need her blessing if we want to do anything in her precious house."

Rhonda was directing her butler to restock something on the mini-bar. Unfortunately for her, Curly had attached himself to her shadow like white on rice, his sole purpose to get her to consent to a dance.

"Well, she looks like she'll be open to almost anything at this point to get Curly off her back," Gerald observed, grinning at Rhonda's reddening face.

"Oh, yeah." I could never resist a good mocking, no matter who started it. "With that twisted little freak breathing down her neck for the umpteenth time, I almost feel kind of sorry for her."

I understood what it was like to be stalked repeatedly. The Darth-Vader-in-training of our class, Brainy, had done it for as far back as preschool. Most of the time, he would sneak up behind me with that stupid nasally breath of his announcing his presence. Eventually, I got to the point of knowing exactly when to gauge the punch that would send him reeling to the ground. I couldn't tell you how many pairs of glasses of his that I broke. 

Amazingly, though, hardly anyone noticed these wacky moments. I suppose you could chalk it up to the fact that there really wasn't worth much to remember about him. He never spoke a lot or hung out with many of the kids in our class; no one could remember his real name. Brainy even remained lost to Arnold's altruistic patrol.

Maybe that was why he was especially drawn to me. I took enough time to give him attention, even if it was cursory and negative. Perhaps I was also too much like him in some ways: lonely, ignored, and unloved. Thankfully, after I permanently rearranged his nose the summer after sixth grade, Brainy pretty much left me alone. However, I would sometimes miss giving Old Betsy a warm-up in the morning on the bus to school, the place where Brainy appeared to show up most.

Eyeing me warily, Gerald retorted, "First Arnold and now Rhonda? Boy, sympathy is big on your list of charities tonight, isn't it, Helga?" He shrugged, though, conceding, "Anyway, I guess the keyword to Rhonda's situation really is 'almost'."

With that, Gerald strode off, leaving me no chance to toss in a parting cheap shot. _Or did I get the last word in, after all? _I wondered with a start. _Hey, maybe I could learn to actually stand Gerald's presence. At least he dislikes Rhonda enough to admit I had a good point about her. _

Arnold smiled slightly at Phoebe and me. "Well, I'm parched. While Gerald's off handling Rhonda, I'm going to take this opportunity to grab me some punch," my beloved announced. He motioned to the fountain on the bar counter that was slowly trickling a pink liquid into a large, crystalline bowl. "Do you guys need anything?"

"No, thank you, Arnold, I'm fine for the moment," Phoebe politely refused.

I didn't choose so gracious a route, because I instantly figured out Arnold's angle: he was going to leave Phoebe and me alone to kiss and make up! "I'm a big girl, Arnold. I can get my own punch if I want any, which I don't." Snickering, I couldn't help adding for the sake of my sick sense of humor, "I'd be careful if I were you; I wouldn't put it past any of the schmucks here to spike the drinks."

"Whatever you say, Helga," Arnold muttered, rolling his eyes knowingly as he walked away.

_Damn straight, football head, _I thought fiercely, balling my fists tightly.

A stiff tension descended like a heavy curtain between Phoebe and me. I pretended to be interested in a particular section of the living room's pristine white ceiling. Phoebe, however, fixed her probing eyes right on me. If she was nervous, Phoebe gave no indication of it.

It suddenly occurred to me that Phoebe had more guts than I'd ever had in my life. With quiet determination, she'd managed to win over the boy she cared deeply about. Her inquisitive and studious disposition allowed her to enjoy intellectual pursuits, thereby putting her into the limelight of academic distinction. If fate would permit it, Phoebe already had her ducks lined up in a neat row for a pretty decent future in store for herself.

And what did I have to show for myself in this moment? Through my contact today with Arnold and Tish, I had reached several fundamental realizations about the issues plaguing me. Despite Arnold's well-meaning yet misguided intentions, however, I couldn't articulate my feelings here in the middle of a crowded room. I hadn't even formulated a passable apology for the crazy shit I'd piled on her in all the years we'd been friends.

"Long time no see, huh, Helga?" Phoebe remarked as casually as possible in an attempt to release the building pressure between us.

_Cut out the small talk, Helga, _I thought, steeling myself for action once more. _Just get to the heart of the matter like you did with _Arnold___. It's better that way for everybody involved, anyway…_

"Save it, Phoebe," I burst out abruptly in a gruff voice. "We all know I've been acting like a total butthead lately."

Phoebe's eyes flashed with a grim amusement. "You said it, Helga, not me."

"That wouldn't stop you from thinking it," I countered flatly, frowning. "I know you well enough to see through that flimsy excuse of yours."

Shrugging, my best friend granted, "You're absolutely correct, Helga. Just like I would know not to always take your bad attitude personally."

The flush that I'd held at bay ever since returning to the party with Arnold now brandished its flaming red curse upon my face with a vengeance. One old saying that seemed especially appropriate for this moment floated into my consciousness: "Keep your enemies close, but keep your friends closer."

"Phoebe, I'll forever be both grateful and angry at you for what you've done to me tonight," I whispered. I avoided her eyes for fear of my blush deepening.

My best friend placed a hand over my firmly clenched fists in a comforting gesture. "He's beginning to scratch the surface, isn't he?"

We'd arrived at the point of no return in the conversation, and I still wasn't ready to execute that final leap off into the yawning black abyss below. Once there, I would have to disclose things even more revealing than those admittances I'd made to Arnold. No, it'd have to be alone, away from intrusive onlookers.

"There's a lot going on, Phoebs," I stated simply, gazing at her intently.

At the usage of my familiar nickname for her, Phoebe's eyes gleamed with her characteristic automatic understanding. _Good old Phoebe,_ I thought with a twinge of profound sadness. _It's so ironic that I felt I couldn't come to her before it escalated into everything in front of us here._

Suddenly Rhonda marched between Phoebe and me. Her roughness immediately set off the flame of burning hatred I had for her.

"Hey, princess, what's the deal?" I snapped.

Instead of answering me, Rhonda promptly turned to the stereo, which had thankfully muffled my talk with Phoebe. "All right, everybody, I have an announcement!" she proclaimed in an animated voice. Our class faced the spoiled brat, mildly disgruntled at having to actually listen to her. "Gerald just suggested to me something very interesting to try: a conga line!"

Those around us started to exclaim in excitement over the idea. Their assent reminded me of the moment Gerald had decided to relate some of his urban legends at the beginning of the party. Both activities, after all, provided an attractive variation to the dull agenda of toast points and polite conversation Rhonda had forced on us in this events over the years.

"Great!" the princess cried over the racket, jacking the volume up on the new No Doubt song playing, "Hey Baby." With that, she strolled off to seek sanctuary from the terror currently known as Curly.

"Come on, Rhonda, just one dance, please!" Curly shouted as he trailed her once again.

_I guess Gerald wasn't able to pull off "__Mission_: Impossible" when it comes to that nut job,_ I thought wryly._

A general movement had already been initiated among my peers in order to find the desired people to sway between in the forming conga line. Therefore, it was only a matter of seconds before Gerald approached Phoebe and me.

"Come, Phoebe, you have a spot next to me so that we can show these people how it's done!" he declared, holding his arm out to his girlfriend.

Phoebe giggled and abruptly grabbed my wrist. "Helga, you can be next to me, too!"

Her boyfriend tossed her a strange look. "But I thought-" he began to blurt out.

I knew exactly what he meant: Were we not still talking to each other?

"It's okay, Gerald," Phoebe interrupted tersely, glancing at him sharply.

Although Gerald's face reflected his confusion about Phoebe's statement, he merely shrugged. "I'll never understand girls," he murmured to himself. "Fighting one minute, talking to each other the next."

"Well, Helga, what do you say?" Phoebe inquired expectantly.

"Yes, don't you have a dancing reputation to uphold?"

Almost against my will, I whirled around to come face-to-face with a familiar pair of sparkling blue eyes that rattled me to my very core. _Damn you for sneaking up on me like that, __Arnold__…criminy, I'm so distracted right now that I can't remember __Arnold__'s last name! I thought in dismay._

"What's it to you, football head?" I retorted, wary of any ulterior motives he might have.

"I believe a certain tango comes to mind," he replied calmly, grinning broadly.

The April Fool's Day Dance back in fourth grade had been about the one time in my life I'd been able to execute a smooth dance. That was probably because Arnold was my partner…until I ended up in the pool under P.S. 118's gym floor. This was part of the perfect prank Gerald and Arnold had concocted to get back at me for pretending that Arnold had temporarily blinded me and making the unsuspecting football head my personal slave. Nevertheless, I got the last laugh in my reign of gags that April Fool's Day by pulling Arnold into the pool with me.

"Is that a challenge, football head?" I shot back.

Gerald stared at his best friend as if he were an alien pod person spitting nickels and chanting "Hare Krishna." "Arnold, do we have to start with that again? I didn't think you still held a grudge about her one-upping you so long ago."

"Gerald, when isn't Helga trying to get one over on me?" Arnold questioned, shrugging. "Whether or not I challenge her makes little difference."

Considering this for a moment, Gerald conceded reluctantly, "Point taken, man."

"Well, as Phoebe said, what do you say, Helga?" Arnold demanded, facing me. "Are you game?"

As Arnold glanced at me for my response, his eyes seemed to contain a certain purpose in them, almost as if he were attempting to tell me something. It suddenly dawned on me that maybe this was another step toward being integrated into this circle, which must've began with that first conversation with Phoebe and Gerald. _Jeez, __Arnold__'s really holding up his end of the bargain, I thought in amazement. _Still, we'll have to deal with our best friends separately on that issue.__

For now, though, the present state of affairs would be enough. "All right, Arnold. I'll relish the competition," I professed. 

I flashed him one of my rare grins of genuine enthusiasm as my favorite part of "Hey Baby" played:

_Misfit, I sit  
Lit up, wicked_

_Everybody else surrounded by the girls  
With the tank tops and the flirty ways…_

_*******************************************************************************************_

The remainder of the party passed with relative ease. Phoebe, Gerald, Arnold, and I participated in the conga line, ate some of the refreshments, and mingled with our classmates. Nonetheless, the unspoken questions about my situation lay dormant, waiting for the right moment to spring to life.

At about eleven o'clock, the bash began to disperse. Parents arrived to take their little darlings home.

As for myself, I'd traveled to the shindig by bus, and that was how I planned to return to my house. Even if Miriam did have a driver's license, I wouldn't have trusted her behind the wheel of a car in the half-drunken state she'd been in all day. Since he had to go in early to the Beeper Emporium, Bob had been complaining all evening about being out for a "school function." My parents' pissy moods only intensified when we'd gotten caught in the aftermath of that nasty overpass accident. Believe me, I was fortunate I hadn't missed graduation altogether, so I'd informed Mom as soon as we'd come home from the ceremony that I was "going out for a while."

Of course, I would've bummed a ride off of Phoebe if I could have. I was a familiar face to the Heyerdahls, especially her mother, who dealt with me in everything from sleepovers to carpools. Unfortunately, since the Heyerdahls' only car was in the shop, Gerald's father was carting both Phoebe and her boyfriend around. I couldn't very well barge in on that arrangement.

When Gerald and Arnold went outside to wait on their rides, Phoebe and I stayed behind in the foyer of Rhonda's house to say our good-byes. "So I'll see you tomorrow, Helga?" my best friends asked tentatively, that intent look in her eyes.

The black abyss beckoned again, and I ignored the cowardice rising in me. "Lamoreaux's is finally releasing an entire collection of Keats' work, and I'd like to own a copy. How about meeting me there at two-thirty tomorrow afternoon?" I suggested. "You might even find something you want, Phoebs."

Phoebe grinned back. "That sounds fine to me. Gerald and I are going to the matinee of that _Planet of the Apes _remake, which should end around then."

"_Planet of the Apes?"_ I echoed, smirking in spite of myself. "Who says couples can't agree on the movies they watch? You're getting science fiction and action all rolled into one flick!"

"And who lends credence to the myth that best friends as diverse in interests as we are can't shop together once in a while?" Phoebe responded, still smiling. "I seem to recall quite a few intriguing expeditions we've have over the years, especially at Lamoreaux's."

She was right; besides Slausen's, Lamoreaux's had been our favorite hangout since we were eleven. I couldn't help laughing at the frequent memory of Phoebe perusing the math and science sections while I checked out the best sellers and poetry compilations. The important thing, though, was that our mutual love of reading brought us together in that place, and I was hoping for the same kind of synergy tomorrow when I told her everything…

Gerald suddenly opened the front door and stepped into the foyer. "Phoebe, Dad's here! We need to go," he ordered dryly as he glanced at me, "or else Dad'll lean into his horn like there's no tomorrow."

"Coming, Gerald," Phoebe answered briskly. She turned to me. "Are your parents on their way to pick you up?"

_Oh, sure, they're just jumping at the chance to haul my ass home,_ I thought sarcastically.

Aloud, I lied to reassure my best friend, "Yeah, Bob'll be here soon."

A horn abruptly pierced the night with its strident peals. "Phoebe, let's go before Dad sets a new horn blowing record!" Gerald hissed, flushing slightly at the embarrassment of his father's impatience.

"Okay, Gerald," Phoebe countered crisply. She waved to me, adding as she darted out the front door, "See you later, Helga!"

"Man, I swear Arnold had less trouble getting out of here, even when his grandpa was cracking jokes a mile a minute to me," Gerald mumbled to himself in exasperation as he stalked out the door.

Luckily for him, Rhonda and Nadine, the only other people at the party, chose the second or so after he'd left to venture into the foyer. "Who was that?" Rhonda demanded, her eyes flashing with irritation.

_Sorry about the temporary noise pollution in your exclusive neighborhood, princess, _I though tartly.

Still, I could use her petulance to my advantage. I quickly glanced out a window facing the street in time to spot Mr. Johanssen's old Honda speeding away. No one else was around.

"Someone else's ride," I informed Rhonda, shrugging.

Rhonda peered at me as if I were no better than one of those numerous Caprini knock-offs she detested so much. "Then you're the last one here?" she question slowly.

Clearly I had worn out my welcome long ago, but it wasn't like I had ever given a damn about her approval. At any rate, she'd practically supplied me with a perfect lead-in to my plan.

"Don't worry, Rhonda, I wouldn't dream of overstaying my visit here," I snapped, flinging open the front door. "It's getting pretty late, and I become cranky if I don't have at least eight hours of sleep a night."

"Cranky is the not the word for what you are," Rhonda muttered under her breath. She turned away from me to go back into the living room with an obediently silent Nadine in tow.

_That tears it, princess, _I thought nastily, a wicked smile forming on my face.

"Why, Rhonda, I bet even you need all the beauty rest you can get to kick down that high bitchiness level of yours a notch or two," I spat.

Rhonda stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around, shock spreading across her face. Nadine watched on, surprised by my sudden move as well.

"Well, I never!" Rhonda cried in her most snooty voice.

_You just keep setting yourself up, don't you, princess?_ I thought coldly.

"And now you have," I shot back. "Good-bye, Rhonda."

With that, I stormed outside, slamming the front door behind me. A bus suddenly sped by, heading toward the stop at the end of the corner. Hiking up the skirt of my dress to my knees, I sprinted as rapidly as I could in my heels. I prayed having long legs and a steady gait would help me out.

Ultimately, though, the bus driver's sense of humor about my situation was what enabled me to catch up to the vehicle. "Hello, Helga," he hollered as he opened the bus door.

The bus driver's huge grin and steel prosthetic leg sticking out from beneath his gray uniform's pant leg were unmistakable. "Hi, Murray," I panted loudly, too exhausted to move from the curb onto the bus itself.

Murray and I had shared a rather quick introduction almost four years ago. He had helped Gerald, Arnold, and me deliver the evidence of Scheck's crooked scheme to the citizens of Hillwood City. At first he hadn't wanted to get involved in such an act of valor, but when he learned that his ex-fiancée's home was in the area affected, he jumped right on Arnold's bandwagon of heroism. As a result, he got back together with his ex-fiancée, Mona. Now married to her, Murray was happier than ever.

"Since it's your graduation night, I figured I'd go easy on you." Murray smiled warmly. "Even though Mona and I both had to work graveyard shifts tonight, we were at P.S. 118 for your big moment. We wanted to congratulate you, but we couldn't find you in that huge crowd." 

_I didn't want to be found, _I thought ruefully. 

"Thanks, Murray. That means a lot to me," I added, meaning every word.

"Well, why don't you get on? I have other stops to make, you know." 

"You always have stops," I retorted dryly as I climbed aboard the bus and paid the fare. I peered into the dark interior. "Besides, it doesn't look there's anyone else on here." 

He shrugged and closed the bus door. "I still have a schedule to follow." Jerking a thumb toward the back, Murray ordered, "Get behind the yellow line."

"You got it, chief," I replied, mock saluting to him as I hunted for a seat in the back.

For a while, I sat there, watching the buildings on the streets fly by. There were more stops as Murray had mentioned, and a few people did get on and off. I didn't really pay attention to any particular faces, however, for I was too deep in my own thoughts. 

A raspy gasping suddenly interrupted my brooding. Air passed in and out of the person's lungs with a wheezing that chilled my blood with its familiarity. At first it sounded faint, eventually growing closer and closer. Finally, a warm breath tickled the very back of my neck. _Oh, what the hell, _I thought wearily. _He probably wants me to do it for old times' sake._

With a practiced aim, I balled Old Besty up, swung the fist backward in a vertical line, and felt it connect with Brainy's nose for the first time in two years. He staggered briefly before landing with a _thump in the seat behind me. Before anyone noticed unconscious Brainy, I yanked on the cord to notify Murray I was getting off. I was only a couple of blocks away from home, and I was sure I could manage the walk._

Together with my insulting Rhonda and punching Brainy, this would be the last time that I would ever be acting in the role of Helga G. Pataki, the pure nasty bully of P. S. 118. After tonight, she had to die. _But who will replace her? _I wondered as I scrambled off the bus.

***********************************************************************************

"Hello, Helga."

Mildly startled, I looked up from the book I'd been engrossed in to see Phoebe standing before me. "Hey, Phoebs," I greeted her. "Pull up a chair and join me."

"Don't mind if I do," she accepted, taking a seat across from me at the table I occupied.

Immediately I glanced down at my trusty Timex. "It's a quarter to three," I informed her matter-of-factly. "You're late."

Phoebe actually appeared chagrined about my stupid remark. "The movie ran over a few minutes past two-thirty," she babbled rapidly. "Then there were the five blocks I had to walk to here from the movie theater…"

Suddenly I noticed her smeared lip gloss and the couple of flyaway strands out of place with her neatly coifed bob. _Criminy__, Phoebe's been making out with Gerald! I realized. _God, I'd be embarrassed if I were Phoebe, too. _Shuddering involuntarily, I banished the disturbing revelation from my mind and forced myself to prevent a possible uncomfortable moment happening between us._

"Forget it, Phoebs, I was just giving you a hard time," I declared breezily to still her ranting. "Actually, I didn't mind the delay; I got to read through this Elizabeth Barrett Browning book."

Much of the appeal Lamoreaux's held for Phoebe and me was its low pressure policy to buy anything. Even Barnes and Noble had nothing over this establishment. There were several tables and chairs distributed around the book store so that customers could "preview" prospective merchandise. Nevertheless, for the amount of books we did read right in the store, Phoebe and I probably more than made up for it in the number we purchased.

"That whole book?" Phoebe echoed. "The length seems rather extensive." Her eyebrows arched in curiosity. "How long have you been here anyway?"

"A while," I replied vaguely, shrugging. "I had some time to kill."

I had spent the entire Saturday morning with Miriam packing and attending to other odds and ends of our separate trips. Noon hit, though, and Mom put down everything in favor of getting busy with that blasted blender. Disgusted, I fled from the house before I could witness the old scene of her passing out on the couch. After a quick meal at Slausen's and a short walk in Tina Park, I went to Lamoreaux's to stake out a convenient corner in which to lose myself with a good book of poetry. Amazingly, no one except Phoebe had bothered me in the time that had lapsed.

"How was _Planet of the Apes_?" I inquired, switching subjects. I was slowly building up my courage for the real topic I had called her here for.

"Let's just say I prefer Charlton Heston over Mark Wahlberg as the leading man," Phoebe responded blandly.

_Now's the time to lay it on real thick, _I decided, smiling.

"That's such a shame," I lamented in a mock disappointed voice. "I hear Mark Wahlberg takes off his shirt in that movie."

Phoebe struggled to maintain a straight face as she assured me, "You're not missing anything, Helga." She picked up the black paperback lying beside the Elizabeth Barrett Browning volume. "Is this the elusive Keats' collection you've been searching high and low for these last two months?"

"You got it, Phoebs," I confirmed triumphantly. "I've been fascinated by his work ever since we read that excerpt from _Endymion in English."_

"Mrs. Skelter did appear to include a large quantity of poetry in that particular subject," she commented, flipping through the pages.

_All right, Helga, here's the right moment, _I urged myself. _Reveal your true purpose for that book. _

"Well, at least I'll have some excellent reading material while I'm on my way to Alaska." I examined her face carefully for a reaction.

I didn't have to wait long. Dumbfounded, my best friend stared at me, letting the Keats book slip through her fingers to land with a _thud_ on the table surface. The noise was muffled by the distance we were from the front of the store, so I wasn't worried about anybody hearing us.

"How long have you known this?" she finally questioned.

"It'll be two weeks ago as of this upcoming Monday, and I'll also be leaving that same day. Dad's having me stay with Olga for the entire summer so that he can take Miriam along to Dallas for some big business deal he has there."

"That certainly doesn't leave us with much time, does it?" Phoebe observed, still studying me with that stunned expression on her face.

"I know, Phoebe," I agreed sadly, casting my eyes downward.

_No amount of insight could've prepared her for this, _I mused. _Hell, even I wasn't ready to properly tell her. _

"And Arnold knows, doesn't he?" Phoebe asked hesitantly.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I verified, "Yeah, he knew before you did." Pausing for a moment, I met her eyes as I added tersely, "It was kind of hard to avoid the issue when you sent the old football head after me like that!"

Phoebe sighed wearily. "Perhaps I shouldn't have interfered, but I thought it was best to intervene somehow, considering the circumstances."

"It was the only way to get me to snap out of it," I conceded earnestly. "Yet your method has also…" I wracked my brain for the most appropriate words to use. "…complicated a lot of things. I've been having mixed feelings about myself, you, and most of all, Arnold."

It was at last done. I had invited the black abyss to engulf me into its dark depths. Once inside, I couldn't turn back now if I wanted to.

My best friend gazed at me thoughtfully. "What exactly happened between you and Arnold last night?"

_Ah, the million-dollar question that's burning a hole in the deep pocket of your mind, _I noted ruefully.

"He wants us to be friends for both you and Gerald's sakes, and I consented to his scheme," I uttered in a near whisper.

Phoebe was silent for a moment. "It's not enough, though, is it?" she probed gently.

"Phoebe, I'm not a complete fool!" I exclaimed indignantly. Realizing the loud pitch of my voice, I lowered it swiftly. "Whether or not Arnold was aware of it, he was offering me an ultimatum. No matter what the terms were, how could I refuse him if it meant losing you and him both?"

"Helga-" Phoebe tried to reason with me.

"Don't try to deny that you two were about ready to give up on me, and I can guess with a fair certainty that Gerald could've cared less about what I did or didn't do."

Her eyes mirrored the awful truth of my suspicions. She didn't answer me, for there was no right way to reply to acknowledged mistrust from two different parties.

Although the next part of what had to be articulated was definitely the hardest to utter, I steeled myself for such difficult words. From deep within my mind came the most compelling reason for their necessity: "Search within yourself, Helga. There is much more to you than you know." _Dr. Bliss, I finally understand what you meant when you told me that, I thought, shaking my head. _

"Phoebs, when you get right down to it, we can't go on pretending that things can stay the same," I argued. "You and I both know it. It's been going on for such a long time that it was only a matter of time before we realized it. Last night was a major indicator." 

Phoebe nodded dolefully. "I know, Helga," she admitted reluctantly.

I smiled at her gently. "Phoebe, you have a lot going for you. I've always known that in spite of your quietness." Pausing for a moment, I let out a sharp intake of breath I was holding. "When I look at myself, though, I see that I've accomplished…zilch. What have I ever done other than cause nothing but trouble? I've made choices that I'm not proud of at all, and there were other things I wish I could've done." I swallowed hard. "Phoebe, that scares me half to death!" 

"What…what do you plan to do?" Phoebe asked, taken aback by my vehemence.

"Phoebe, I've been acting for so long that I'm not really sure who Helga G. Pataki is anymore. There's two different sides to me, and I want to know…I need to…to find out who I am really am, what I'm capable of, for both myself and…Arnold. I need time to do that, and as much as I hate the idea, going to Alaska will allow me to have that."

**Author's Note: What did you think? I hope it was good. It certainly took enough thought and time to do it. Next up is a surprise for Helga that ****Arnold**** has cooked up for her in chapter 12. Thanks again for reading!**


	14. Arnold: Waiting

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: I know many of you are curious about ****Arnold****'s surprise for Helga. To find out what it exactly happens, though, you'll just have to read this chapter, won't you? **

**Tickle-me-smeagel: As far as to how many ****Alaska**** chapters I'll be posting, I don't have a set number yet, but I do know that I will naturally include what's going on for both Helga and Arnold during that time. Think of it this way: each of them sort of have their own separate stories that will eventually come together. I've also already been doing some reading on ****Alaska**** for a while, and I've even included references and information involving ****Alaska**** in earlier chapters to try to be as accurate as possible in my writing. **

**Amelia Badelia: Your concerns are a bit more difficult to respond to. I looked at the last scene of chapter 13 and decided to word a few parts of it differently. Hopefully, Helga's intentions are expressed in a less "brash" way. As to Helga's poetry deal, I believe that she would know a lot about poems in order to be able to write them so well and have tried to make it clear in earlier chapters. In addition, Helga's literary interests will also become an important part of this chapter for a reason.**

**Jae****: I've heard of William Faulkner's works, but I really haven't read anything of his. I'll be sure to check it out. And yes, I finally updated. I would've taken longer with it so that I could've included more, but I decided I had to get something out, especially with your "great anticipation" encouragement. Thanks, because I am a HUGE procrastinator and perfectionist. **

**Willy D.:  Well, this chapter isn't quite as long as the last one: about 5,000 words. I'm still going to get to that 100,000-word story goal pretty quick, huh?**

**Anyway, thanks again for your awesome reviews. You guys are what keep me coming back for more. Enjoy and keep on reviewing!**

**Arnold****: Waiting**

**_So I'm waiting for you  
I'm waiting to know you  
But I don't even understand myself  
Don't ask me why…_**

**_The Calling, "When It All Falls Down"_**

June 2001

Saturday found Gerald and I slated to work a five-hour shift at Mrs. Vitello's flower shop. After we got off at noon, Gerald went to meet Phoebe at the movie theater while I returned to the boarding house to complete the usual allotment of chores that awaited me. On top of that, since the first of the month had also happened to fall on my graduation day, I had to go through the always-difficult task of collecting the rent. That meant enduring the separate whims of the boarders: Ernie's demolition reminiscing, Suzie and Oskar's fighting, and Mr. Hyunh's incessant requests for "maintenance upkeep." The only boarder who wasn't as trying was Mr. Smith, for he only required punching in a code and opening a safe built into the floor for the check. Then again, he was gone for the summer, and that meant he couldn't slip in an occasional I.O.U. like he was prone to do. 

However, the event that took the cake was the air conditioning conking out unexpectedly in the middle of the hottest afternoon we'd been having so far all year. Grandpa and I spent several hours attempting to make the machine operational again, all to no avail. The repairs would have to wait until Monday for a professional.

Sunday was usually a big day as far as plans went for those of the boarders who didn't work, so everybody had already left by the time Grandma sent me to the store that morning for "supplies" for dinner. Mr. Hyunh would pay visits to his daughter Mai. Ernie would go on dates with his girlfriend Lola. Oskar would venture out to pretend he was blind in order to obtain spare change. Once in a while, even Suzie would be able to call on her cousin Nancy.

As for myself, I'd had something waiting in the wings for this afternoon ever since Friday night. Actually, I had been meaning to do it for some time, but it seemed especially appropriate to do this activity today. In fact, while I was out exercising Abner and running to the store around the corner, I took the liberty of making a necessary side trip in order to set my scheme in motion. The only downside was that I didn't expect to take so long with my errand. Nor was I sure I could explain my actions to Grandpa without receiving the standard teasing since it involved Helga. 

I knew my grandfather was dying to hear about what had happened that night, just as Gerald and Phoebe had been. After all, Helga and I had agreed to the seemingly inconceivable: to officially end our personal vendetta against each other. Still, with a past as complex as ours, I wasn't exactly sure of how to go about telling others of the deal. Nor was I certain of the manner in which I should act toward Helga now. The fighting we'd always done was gone. In its place was a vacuum waiting to fill the skeleton friendship we'd fashioned.

What was clear to me, though, was that Helga must've been feeling even more awkward than I did. Indeed, she'd effectively withdrawn herself from any contact with even Phoebe. Therefore, I'd tried to repair the breech between the two by acting as casual as possible toward Helga and providing the pair with a chance to make amends. Although Phoebe and Helga were talking again, a palatable strain still existed between them. Then there was the undeniable factor of Gerald and Helga disliking each other to the point of distraction from their constant bickering they always seemed to envelop themselves and everyone else around them in. Everything was in a state of flux, and I found myself wondering if my surprise would break the ice…

************************************************************************************************************

By the time I returned to the boarding house from my errand running that Sunday morning, a little more than an hour had passed. "Well, look at what the pig drug in," Grandpa remarked wryly, glancing up from the copy of _The Biweekly Bugle he was skimming through._

"Hi, Grandma, Grandpa," I replied to my grandparents as I strolled into the kitchen. Both of my hands were full with a bag of heavy groceries and a rolled-up leash.

By coincidence, Abner had clattered noisily into the kitchen only a fraction of a second before me. As a result, it was almost as if my pet pig was heralding my eminent arrival, which I suppose was a sufficient basis for Grandpa's fairly humorous observation.

The object of Abner's frantic clamoring was the food dish clutched in Grandma's hands. _It's only been two days since graduation, and Grandma's already switched identities, _I thought, shaking my head. Today Grandma was a cattle herder, decked out in the appropriate attire that consisted of leather chaps, a ten-gallon hat, Levi jeans, scuffed brown boots, and a worn-out black jerkin. Since she was currently performing her "chuck wagon duties," the trusty white apron she always seemed to wear protected her outfit. 

"Good morning, tex," Grandma greeted me in a gruff drawl. She placed the food dish on the linoleum floor before Abner, who promptly stuck his snout hungrily into the food scraps there. "Did you bring the supplies?"

Nodding, I set the paper sack on the counter next to the sink. "Sure, Grandma." I pulled out the scrap of paper I had stuffed into the back pocket of my jeans for safekeeping. "I got everything on the list."

Meanwhile, Grandpa had turned his attention back to his newspaper. "It's about time you showed up, short man," he mumbled absently. "You missed breakfast. I mean, how long could it possibly take to walk a pig and pick up a few items?"

Luckily, Grandma inadvertently came to my rescue. "Never mind slim, tex," she advised offishly, adjusting the tilted angle of her hat. "He's just sore from all those days in the saddle." She shook her head sadly. "The trail can really take a lot out of a person, I'm afraid."

Grandpa glared at his wife. "How can the trail be so rough when the grub back at camp is enough by itself to almost do me in?" he grumbled.

_No wonder Grandpa's so irritable right now, I realized as I hung up Abner's leash on a nail near the back door. _A visit to his "office" must've been in order while I was gone.__

"Sorry, slim, but this ain't gourmet cooking," Grandma countered tersely. "I can only work with what the general store carries, and that's what tex here brought me." She turned to me, gesturing to a huge pot on the stove. "Now, tex, can I interest you in some chow? A growing boy like yourself needs all the strength he can get, especially for that long cattle drive ahead of you."

_Why can't she just say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day? I wondered. At the same time, though, my stomach began to churn at the prospect of choking down another of Grandma's concoctions. Her cooking only seemed to get even worse whenever she adopted the cattle herder identity._

Unfortunately, Grandpa confirmed my suspicions by murmuring behind his paper, "It's poisonous oatmeal, boy. If I were you, I wouldn't touch the stuff with a ten-foot pole."

Grandma frowned. "At least some of us don't complain about what's put in front of us." She promptly jerked a thumb toward Abner.

_Great comparison, Grandma, I noted, smiling. By this point, my pet had just finished wolfing down his scraps. He nosed around his dish for a couple of seconds, hoping to find more tasty morsels. Upon finding none, however, Abner squealed in disappointment and scampered off to another part of the house unknown to us._

I took that to be my cue to execute my own escape as well. "Uh…no, thanks, Grandma," I declined as politely as possible. "I'll probably grab something down at the boardwalk."

"The boardwalk?" Grandma echoed. Her face scrunched up in confusion. "Why would you go there? You can't be out having fun when there are chores to be done around the homestead."

_Chores?!?__ I thought in dismay. What I wanted to accomplish today couldn't be put off. Helga left for Alaska tomorrow, and with the flurry of activity that yesterday had been, so carrying out my scheme then was nearly impossible. _

_This "roughin' it" mind-set of Grandma's is starting to drive me nuts, _I thought. _Surely convincing Helga to go along with a plan she doesn't know anything about can't be as hard as trying to get through Grandma out the door._

Just as I was about to object, Grandpa folded his newspaper up, scrapped his chair back from the table, and stood. "Speaking of chores, Pookie, I'd like to have a word with the boy, if you don't mind," he requested, tucking _The Biweekly Bugle _under one arm.

_Et tu, Grandpa?_I thought, exasperated.

"Good, good, slim," Grandma murmured. "Idle hands are the devil's workshop."

At present, her attention was focused more on the "supplies" I'd carried in rather than the conversation at hand. As she pulled out a bag of flour and a box of shortening, I could imagine the wheels in Grandma's head turning in regard to tonight's masterpiece she'd construct from scratch.

Grandpa motioned to me. "Come on, short man," he ordered. Sighing, I followed him out into the hallway. When we were immediately out of earshot, though, he exclaimed, "You see what I have to deal with every day?"

I just stared at him.

As always, Grandpa had been half-joking, for he winked at me and added, "Well, at least I'm lucky she's cute."

_Now that's what I call true love, I thought, rolling my eyes knowingly._

Aloud, I replied, "So you'll let me off the hook? I do have somewhere pretty important to be."

My grandfather shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, why not? I can make up any old excuse for you. Pookie certainly won't be the wiser for it." He smiled. "Besides, Arnold, you need a day free once in a while, or else you'll fry out your brains quicker than that fizzled AC. You do so much around the boarding house as it is. Believe me, I've lost way too many brain cells living here with Pookie for over fifty years."

He was correct in a sense. As I got older, I naturally took on more responsibility in several spheres of my life. The boarding house became a particular area of interest to me because of my grandparents' increasingly limited ability to run things smoothly without at least some rudimentary assistance. Sometimes these demands were hard to juggle with other obligations like my homework and job shifts. Consequently, I seemed to experience work and play in alternate bursts. Nonetheless, it was only proper that I complete the duties due to Grandma and Grandpa for those who couldn't perform them…

Blinking away my sudden reverie, I smiled gratefully at Grandpa. "Thanks, Grandpa. I'll see you later." 

Grandpa shrugged. "Don't thank me. Because of Pookie's oatmeal, I know I'm going to be incapacitated for a while anyway." As if on cue, an audible gurgling sound rumbled in his stomach. "Go on and have fun at the boardwalk, Arnold. _The Biweekly Bugle _can keep me company while I'm in my 'office'."

As he darted downstairs to his "private" basement bathroom, I simply shook my head and glanced at the slight bulge in my jeans' cargo pocket, which brought one thought in my mind: _Actually, Grandpa, going to the boardwalk is only half of my plan…_

*************************************************************************************************************

In spite of the balmy, sunny weather outside, the blue two-story house before me seemed to stand out like a forbidden fortress among the row of closely aligned dwellings on that street. As I neared the front door, the sound of a harsh male voice talking practically emanated from within that inhospitable residence via an open window. _Great, __Mr. Pataki is here, _I realized with a sinking feeling. Convincing Helga to come with me would now be even harder with her father present.

Steeling myself for the worst, I approached the front door and rapped on it quickly. With any luck, Helga might answer the knock herself. Unfortunately, I didn't possess such a luxury, for I heard Mr. Pataki's heavy footsteps. He was grasping a cell phone in one large hand as he tore open the front door with the other in an irritated rush.

"What do you want, kid?" Helga's father demanded brusquely, squinting at me in the bright late morning sun. 

"I've come to see Helga," I replied as evenly as I could. 

Mr. Pataki studied me shrewdly. "Wait a second. Are you that Alfred character who's been hounding the girl lately with all those phone calls?"

Obviously, I hadn't had much contact with Mr. Pataki in the past. _Two phone calls made over the same number of days ago hardly count as harassment, I thought, a little annoyed._

"It's Arnold, Mr. Pataki, and I've trying to get into touch with Helga for a specific reason," I informed him in a wooden voice. 

Helga's father scrutinized me even more closely, if that was possible. "Well, she doesn't seem too eager to return the favor," he countered, looking fed up with me in such a short amount of time. "Listen, kid, we're busy at the moment, so-" 

By this point, I was anticipating the slam of the front door right in my face. A second later, though, a voice behind Mr. Pataki interrupted, "Who's that?" 

Peering over Mr. Pataki's broad shoulder, I immediately recognized Helga's tall, thin frame in the shadows of the foyer. As she stepped into the light streaming inside the room, I noticed a brown leather briefcase in her hands. Upon spotting me, her already questioning eyes widened in surprise.

"ARNOLD?" Helga cried, abruptly halting.

"Olga, get your fanny over here and hand me my briefcase," Mr. Pataki barked. "You're holding me up!"

_He's leaving? I thought, surprised. __I guess there's pressing business down at the Beeper Emporium, after all._

Helga's scowl was as deep as her father's. "The name's _Helga_, Bob, and it's not my fault I took so long. That thing was buried under all the junk in your messy excuse for an office!" She stalked over to him, slapping the briefcase into his outstretched hand. "So what are _you_ doing here, Arnold?"

"I'd like to talk to you about something important," I answered simply. I hoped she could sense the urgency in the purpose of my visit. 

Her eyes reflected the curiosity she was feeling about my silent entreaty. However, she shrugged as if it were no big deal and consented gruffly, "Yeah, I guess I can give you a minute." She turned to Mr. Pataki, who was putting his cell phone in a phone holder attached to his belt. "What's the game plan for today, Dad?"

An electronic musical tone suddenly emitted from the beeper also clipped to his belt. Glancing down at the device, he muttered, "That no-good screw-up is paging me again. I swear, you can't find good help anymore. I pay that guy overtime to alphabetize my computer files by the time I come in today, and he mixes them up instead."

_No wonder she has no patience for her own father, _I noted, glancing at Helga's disgruntled face. _He jumps down everyone's throats the second he believes he's got something on them._

Mr. Pataki looked up from the beeper and addressed his daughter. "All right, Olga, here's the deal: I should be able to straighten out the incompetence of that idiot employee of mine by five or so. You call Fong Chung's around then and order the usual take-out." He gazed at the two of us briefly, his expression unreadable. "Olga, I don't want any funny business while I'm gone, got it?"

Our faces became as red as ripe tomatoes at his implication. "Don't worry, Bob, we'll behave," Helga snapped. "Arnold here is a real gentleman."

"Glad to hear that," Mr. Pataki commented as he shot a smoldering look at me. His sudden concern for his youngest daughter's well-being seemed a bit misplaced as well as downright unnerving. 

With that, he strode off to the Hummer parked in front of his house. Helga glared at her father as he climbed into his vehicle. Chagrined, I remained rooted to the very spot in which I was standing, my eyes averted to the ground.

As soon as Mr. Pataki sped away, Helga exclaimed, "What can I say, football head? Dad is a complete asshole. Hell, I wouldn't have invited you inside anyway. Mom's totally out of it like she always is." I met her angry expression with a silent question in my eyes, to which she tersely replied, "Don't ask."

Recalling my own episode in the boarding house kitchen this morning, I granted, "Point taken."

Still frowning, Helga shut the open front door behind her. "This better be worth it, Arnold," she warned. "Bob's being especially pissy to everyone today because of that stupid trip of his tomorrow." 

"Other than dealing with your dad, do you have anything else better to do today?" I asked tentatively.

Helga sank down on the stone steps. "Nah, I'm bored to tears now that all the packing and other stuff for our trips has been taken care of. Why else do you think I would talk to you, football head?"

"You'll never stop calling me that, will you?" I demanded in slight irritation. I leaned against one of the steps' thick concrete balustrades. 

The harshness present in Helga's face melted away with the broad grin she flashed me. "Oh, well. I guess old habits die hard," she remarked without the least bit of remorse in her voice. 

I couldn't resist laughing softly to myself as random images of our long past together floated through my mind. _Yep, Helga has had a lot of opportunities to call me "football head," _I thought wryly. _Funny how I don't seem to mind that name at the moment…_

The light moment, though, passed when Helga abruptly crossed her arms and demanded quietly, "Let's get down to business, Arnold. What are you doing here? I know you don't show up at my house out of the blue for no good reason." 

Something in Helga's eyes made me want to put a desperately needed positive spin on the conversation. "Since you're going to Alaska tomorrow, how does spending a little time at the boardwalk sound?" I suggested, checking my wristwatch. "It's almost noon now. We could grab something to eat, play whack-a-mole, whatever you want to do. You know, have a little taste of home before you leave it all behind for the summer." 

She laughed bitterly. "What makes you think I care enough about Hillwood City to actually miss it?"

_Challenging Helga at Rhonda's party seemed to do the trick, _I mused. _Maybe it'll tip the scales in my favor this time, too._

"I don't know that, but why don't you take a chance? You might even have fun if you'd ever let yourself go along with something in your life…" I let my voice trail off, the challenge hanging heavily in the air between us.

"You're daring me again, aren't you?" Helga questioned abruptly.

I shrugged casually, but I was holding my breath in anticipation of her answer. "Make what you want of it."

Helga studied me carefully for a moment before she finally sighed. "Well, I _am starving," she admitted, "and there's really nothing to eat around the house." She smiled deviously. "Plus, I'm an expert at whack-a-mole."_

_Great, _I thought, pleasantly surprised. I'd defeated Gerald continuously at that game for years, and it'd be nice for a change to have someone else give me a run for my money.

"Then I look forward to beating you."

Sneering, Helga shot back, "Fat chance of that, football head." She leapt off the steps in a single jump. "Let's roll." 

As if on cue, a bus approached the stop at the corner. I shook my head and followed Helga, wondering for the millionth time where this day would go. At least I'd crossed the first hurdle. A little more difficult maneuvering would be in order to initiate the second phase…_ **************************************************************************************************************************_

_I'll give Helga this: when she wants to do something, she'll throw herself wholeheartedly into it, I thought, wiping a sweaty palm on my jean legs._

Roughly forty-five minutes had passed since Helga and I first stepped off the bus that'd transported us to the boardwalk. We immediately made a beeline to the refreshment stand to scarf down as many corn dogs as our money allowed us to buy. Then we went next door to where the whack-a-mole game resided. There we soon turned a few close matches into a viable tournament. Currently, I was slightly in the lead, yet I knew I couldn't hold out forever. My arms and hands were tired from punching so many moles, and my complete victory unfortunately depended on winning this particular game. If Helga was exhausted, she gave no indication of it.

Suddenly the final mechanical mole snaked its tiny head out of its hole. Helga smirked, and with seemingly little effort, her lightning fast reflexes allowed her to nail the thing with her foam maul before I could even shift my grip on my own hammer. 

"HGP, you are the ultimate whack-a-mole champion," an electronic voice proclaimed. Helga's initials flashed on the machine's screen at the top of a list of the game's high scorers. 

"See, football head?" Helga looked very pleased with herself. "You don't mess with a champion."

Chagrined for the second time that day by a Pataki, I tried to shrug it off. "It was still a pretty close call," I defended, pointing out my own tally that occupied the second place slot directly below hers. 

"Okay, Arnold, if you want another chance, how about testing out your pitching arm by throwing rocks in the river?" Helga proposed, brandishing her right fist practically in my face. "Old Betsy's been itching for little exercise all day."

_Hmmm…that activity might work out nicely, I thought, glancing at the time on my watch. It was a quarter to one o'clock._

I smiled at her. "Okay, Helga, for old times' sake, but let's do it at the docks. With the cannery closed today, we should have the best aim there without too much inference."

She shrugged. "Whatever floats your football head, Arnold."

We wove through the throngs toward the nearby piers. Along the way, we scooped up stones that happened to be lying in our path on the beach. When one small dock hovered into view, I headed straight for it with an experience I'd known over the years. 

For the next ten minutes or so, Helga and I alternated turns chucking the collected rocks into the deep river. Thankfully, we were about even in that area of expertise, Helga with her rock-shooting experience and I in my sheer greater upper body strength. As with everything else the two of us had done over the last hour, we didn't offer each other much in the way of conversation other than boisterous pleasantries. It was almost as if we were afraid to go beyond that; Helga and I were still restricted somewhat by the old boundaries that had always defined us. We'd gotten past them briefly at Rhonda's party, when our deal had appeared much easier to strike then, but it seemed the barriers were back up. That was painfully clear in the stilted act we were putting on for each other, especially when I recalled the sad expression in Helga's eyes that night at Rhonda's party…

_Why does Helga have to confuse me so much? I thought, frustrated._ What could she possibly have to hide? What happened to the decent Helga I saw at the party Friday night? _Even though Helga wore her feelings on her sleeve, you could never tell exactly what she was thinking, and at this moment, I wasn't sure I wanted to know… _

Whirling away from me to face the river, Helga had brought her arm back to hurl her final rock. "Hey, Arnold, do you think I could reach Elk Island with this shot?" she questioned softly. The little blob of land to which she was referring glistened in the distance.

A loud motor interrupted her musing. Helga craned her neck at the noise to see through the glare of the early afternoon sun. On the other hand, I already knew who it was; I'd talked to the person only this morning in order to solidify some plans.

The tiny motor boat pulled up next to the pier on which we were standing. Sitting inside the craft was a crusty figure with a yellow raincoat and hat on in spite of the day's apparent dryness. Because of his notoriety around the wharf district, everyone in Hillwood City automatically recognized the gray-bearded old man.

"Look, Arnold, it's Sheena's uncle Earl," Helga pointed out, dropping her rock with a dull _thud_ to the pier.

"I know," I answered matter-of-factly.

Earl climbed out of his boat and ascended to the dock by way of a creaky ladder. As soon as he caught sight of me, he exclaimed in one of those cliché pirate voices, "You're on time, boy." 

"Likewise," I replied, steeling myself for the next barrier of my scheme. "And you're sure that she's there right now?"

"Aye, that old bat is in her abode, and I'm certain she'd love to see you. It's been going on nigh two months since you've last paid a call on her, is it not?"

_Yeah, it has been, I realized, feeling slightly guilty for taking so long in visiting my friend. _

Helga turned to stare at me with hooded eyes as Earl examined her in curiosity. "Gerald's not coming with you today?" the old man asked.

"Obviously," Helga snapped at Earl, turning on me in annoyance. "What's going on, football head? I thought we were spending the afternoon here at the boardwalk." 

I knew Helga hated not knowing what was going on, so I decided it was best to be direct with her. "Well, Helga, it's funny you should be talking about hitting Elk Island right before Earl here came. If you want to, we can literally hit it…for a visit with an old friend of mine." 

**Author's Note: Since everyone seems to be daring each other lately to call chapters predictable, I'd like to issue the same challenge to them about this chapter (you know who you are). Next up is the rest of ****Arnold****'s surprise and Helga's departure for ****Alaska****. In the long run, it should make more sense to have Helga take over at this point. Thanks again for reading!**


	15. Helga: A Strange Continent

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait! I've been so busy (for those of you who encouraged me to keep writing during these long 3 weeks, I thank you). There was no conceivable way I could've done ****Arnold****'s entire surprise in one chapter, so I had to break it up somehow. Basically, I introduced a few new ideas that will become important later on in the plot, and this chapter will essentially complement chapter 14 in that some holes I created there will be filled up here. If you know your _Hey _****_Arnold_****_!_**** episodes, you should've been able to guess who Helga and Arnold are going to see by the obvious hints I dropped last chapter (Pointy Objects, you're almost too sharp for your own good), but I do also have something up my sleeve (Willy D., you're pretty sharp, too). With this said, on with the show! **

** **

**Helga: A Strange Continent**

**_I am drifting without an anchor_**

**_Through your ambiguous region_**

**_A strange continent immune to all reason_**

**_And I'm flattered by your grey matter…_**

**_Jewel, "Grey Matter"_******

June 2001

          From the very second Arnold had materialized on my doorstep that Sunday, I knew something was up. I mean, why the hell would Arnold voluntarily invite me to spend time with him? In fact, one of my better mottos in life concerned people like him: "Beware of any football-headed people and their equally odd-shaped schemes; they always have the most idiotic well-meaning intentions whether or not you like it or even know it."

          Unfortunately, all common sense flew right out the window when it came to that boy. He strung me along with talk of "having a little taste of home" down at the boardwalk before my departure tomorrow. Even though I was already acutely aware of having to leave everything behind, including Arnold, the full brunt of the realization hit home with all the force of a ton of bricks. The weak side of me that couldn't refuse Arnold anything paved the way for my acquiescence to his request.

          More than anything, I wanted to say good-bye to Arnold, and since I hadn't formulated any of my own famous grand plots quickly enough to carry out, this outing seemed the best way to do it. A clean slate, a new beginning, a clear cut was my agenda of the day, even if I didn't know Arnold's. Nevertheless, the whole time we were together, I felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Simply put, I choked on my lack of courage and half-retreated back into the former shell of my old self, the only sure comfort I had for the moment. I couldn't tell you how many times I'd committed that stupid-ass mistake in the past, and I guess some habits really did die hard as I'd remarked earlier to Arnold. 

Still, I was dazzled by his invitation, rejoicing in the actualization of one of my simple desires: to be with Arnold just for the sake of being near him. I had spent years doing precisely that, only it had always been on my own terms. Instead, I'd allowed the tables to be turned on myself this time, though, and I wasn't sure I liked Arnold playing his do-goody games with me. After all, it was pretty obvious from the very nature of the situation that something was stinking worse in the wharf district than just the dead fish there. 

          Now the entrails of my beloved's scheme were laid out on the dock we were currently occupying with Sheena's uncle Earl. It was up to me, the wary lioness, to sniff around the thing in order to determine if it was ultimately worth the consumption or if it might poison me instead. As much as I didn't want to admit it to myself, I knew the old football head had cooked up some clever stuff in his time, and damn it, I was intrigued to know the rest, even if my abundant curiosity would be the eventual cause of my demise… 

          "Who's this old friend of yours, Arnold?" I questioned curtly. Calling Arnold by his real name straight to his face still felt kind of awkward and foreign to me.

          To my eternal frustration, Arnold had the nerve to flash his trademark Mona Lisa smile at me. "Agatha Caulfield."

          "Agatha Caulfield?" I repeated stupidly for lack of a better thing to say.

          The name's vague familiarity swam to the surface of my consciousness as if the recollection had been buried at the bottom of a deep lake of long lost memories. Back in fourth grade, Arnold had done some report on Agatha Caulfield, his favorite author. From what I gathered, even though she was renowned for writing the sappy, drippy junk that so appealed to Arnold, the woman had turned into a real bitch. _So since when is the old football head on such friendly terms with her? _I wondered. My curiosity as well as my suspicion grew in leaps and bounds.

          "Aye, and if we're to go there, it's best we leave now while the tide's with us," Earl interjected, heading toward the ladder he'd climbed in order to ascend to the pier.

          Still smiling, Arnold rolled his eyes. "Earl, you just want to get to The Rusty Anchor in time for their two-for-one fish and chips special."

          The doofy pirate wannabe whirled around, beaming with a mouthful of actual teeth instead of the flapping gums one might expect to encounter in such a person. "Boy, you know as well as I do that the special you speak of is only on Sundays from three to five. Since I don't have any gold doubloons or the ruby parrot in my possession, how else can I take advantage of such a good deal if I don't ferry people like yourself around once in a while?" he grumbled good-naturedly. "Besides, you're lucky you don't have to hop up and down on one leg while crooning 'Danny Boy' in a high falsetto in addition to the fare you already pay."

          With that, Earl mounted the ladder's first rung and promptly disappeared down the creaky structure. I turned to Arnold, arching my unibrow at him questioningly.

          "Yeah, Earl's always like that. When you're around him as much as I am, you either learn to get used to it or ignore it for the most part," Arnold advised. His tone dripped with considerable dryness, yet his smile betrayed genuine warmth for the grizzled old man. "Kind of reminds me of Grandpa."

          Individuals like Earl or Arnold's grandfather unnerved me to no end. They concealed their cunning behind a façade of not having their heads entirely screwed on right. Every once in a while they'd hint at their true colors by throwing off everybody around them with some seemingly off-handed act or remark that actually made sense.

          Then again, Arnold appeared to specialize in attracting such characters. Hell, he must've had a few loose screws in that oblong head of his to want to ferret out these crackpots.

          "Trust me, it's nothing that I haven't heard before," I declared smoothly. "I'm sure you'll remember the bargaining we've done with Earl in the past."

          My beloved's broad smile diminished slightly. "Listen, I hope you don't mind too much that I didn't tell you earlier about this particular deal I have with Earl," Arnold replied quietly.

          He glanced down at the small motorboat pulled up next to the dock, and I followed his gaze. Earl was hunkered down in the bottom of the craft, fiddling with something. Although we couldn't make out the object with Earl's back in the way, I surmised that it was probably something associated with prepping the boat for the departure to Elk Island.

          Frowning, I switched my attention back to Arnold. "You have to admit that dragging me out here like this is pretty strange in itself," I snapped tartly. "I feel as if I'm being sort of kidnapped. Maybe you're not as much of the gentlemen I told Dad you were."

          As usual, Arnold had the good grace to flush a little, especially at my last sentence. I almost felt bad for acting so rude, the key word here being "almost." The imbalance regarding who had the upper hand in this situation needed to be evened out. One major advantage I had in tipping the scales in my favor was to catch Arnold off guard like he was doing to me currently.

          However, his eyes flared up in annoyance the next moment. "I didn't come here to fight with you, Helga," he shot back. "Besides, even if I did mislead you, you decided to go to the boardwalk on your own, so no one forced you into anything."

          My mouth opened and shut at that. _Nice comeback, __Arnold__, I thought, simultaneously peeved and impressed. The rare but nonetheless biting appearance of Arnold's latent abilities as a fencer of wit definitely commanded both my attention and respect._

          _Or maybe __Arnold__ just excels at common sense, something that I seem to be in short supply of these days, I noted ruefully._

          Arnold reached into a cargo pocket on his jeans and produced a blue paperback. Emblazoned on its front cover was the title _Far and Away._ Just as I'd suspected, the author was Agatha Caulfield.

          "As you might already know, Agatha started writing again a long time ago," Arnold informed me flatly, holding up the slim volume. "I've had her autograph each book as they've come out, and this one is her latest, which I picked up at Lamoreaux's last week.

          Another vague recollection popped into my brain. "I believe I saw a window display there the other day for that book," I commented, bemused.

          Actually, that was beside the point; of course I'd spotted a novel or two by Agatha Caulfield over the years in Lamoreaux's. You naturally passed by a lot of authors when you browsed for decent reading material as much as I did. I just figured Agatha Caulfield's reclusive lifestyle drove her to earn money somehow, and writing again might seem like an attractive option to meet that necessity. _After all, why leave home to get a real job that deals with real people when you could make up your own world to control at someone else's expense? _I mused.

          What really came to mind about Agatha Caulfield's writing concerned one aspect of a certain story. Like the very existence of Agatha Caulfield herself, though, this particular matter had long lay dormant in my collection of memories, for it remained just beyond my reach. Try as I might to nail down the damn elusive recollection, it flittered out of my grasp.

          Meanwhile, Arnold, who had been studying me warily through narrowed eyes, nodded affirmatively at my observation. "That's right. It also occurred to me that since I was going to visit Agatha anyway, I might as well kill two birds with one stone by inviting you along for some writing pointers."

          "Writing pointers?" I echoed, surprised.

          "Well, yeah. Agatha always gave me good writing tips for reports and essays and other stuff like that for school." Arnold rubbed the back of his neck, the first visible sign of his nervousness. "I don't know all the details, but I figured she might even be able to help you with your-"

          "Short story contest," I finished for him. The loose threads of Arnold's scheme had come together neatly for me. "So that's why you had me come to the boardwalk. I mean, what better way to complete your 'Good Samaritan deed of the week' by surprising its unsuspecting victims?" I shook my head, astonished by my beloved intent. "Arnold, why do you always have to be the nice guy?"

          _What a sweet and thoughtful thing to do! _I silently praised him. If I could've gotten away with it, I would've kissed the football head right on the spot. We hadn't engaged in that activity since my infamous rooftop confession the summer after fourth grade. Nevertheless, I didn't think I could attribute my actions as being done in the "heat of the moment" in this instance.

          Suddenly a motor below us roared to life. Earl hollered to us above the sputtering noise, "Come on, you two! It's time to leave!"

          Arnold shrugged, putting the _Far and Away _book back into his cargo pocket. "Helga, that's our cue." He glanced at me carefully." Unless you'd rather not go, that is." His next words were shaded with a hint of sarcasm, something strangely foreign to his nature. "After all, I'm too much of a nice guy."

          What choice did I have in the matter? To be perfectly honest, it wasn't like Arnold was asking me to donate a kidney or something terribly serious to that effect. He was only trying to help me out with my writing on the Alaska trip, not to mention putting his own ass on the line at the risk of my all too familiar ridiculing. How could I say no to that?

          _No regrets, a voice in my head urged me. Somehow I was going to tell him good-bye by the end of this very day. Without the usual melodrama I often resorted to when it came to Arnold. I wasn't ready to reveal so much of my emotional self to him, and I knew he sure as hell couldn't handle it._

          I was, however, willing to give credit where it was due. "Hey, bucko, did I say that I minded you being the nice guy this time? I appreciate trying to give me an insurance policy against bombing the whole short story contest. God knows I need it."

          Arnold blinked a little. "Thanks, Helga," he replied, sounding surprised by my compliment.

          Almost swooning, I stopped my descent into loony city with a mental slap to my face. Adopting a devious grin, I retorted, "I'm feeling generous today, football head. Tomorrow, look out."

          His eyes gleamed with a knowing glint. "I'll be sure to remember that." Arnold approached the ladder. "And right now I'll be generous enough to tell you that the rungs of this ladder are pretty slippery. One wrong move and you might stumble."

          _Great, we get to play Russian roulette with a ladder, I thought drearily. The last thing I wanted to do was take a refreshing swim in the river._

          My beloved swung out on the structure. After a moment's hesitation, I followed suit and clamored on after him. We lowered ourselves down the rickety thing steadily.

          Since he was ahead of me, Arnold was naturally the first to complete the partially nerve-wracking climb. Skipping the last couple of rungs, he leaped lightly into Earl's boat with practiced ease.

          "Showoff," I muttered under my breath. I was only halfway down, my foot poised to apply pressure on the next rung.

          Earl, who was sitting next to the tiller, let his gaze flit curiously from Arnold to me. "What took you two so long?"

          Before he could be answered, though, a loud gasp filled the air. Apparently, I had seriously misjudged the position of my footing on the blasted next rung, for I encountered nothing but empty air below my left sneaker. I tottered precariously before pitching completely backwards.

          Strong arms immediately reached up to break my fall. I collapsed into an embrace that was surprisingly graceful. The boat rocked slightly under the impact, splashing up water around the craft.

          Judging from the familiar spicy scent of his shampoo, I instantly knew it'd been Arnold who had caught me with such deftness. Because he was directly behind me, the angle at which I was leaning into him forced my head to be level with his chin. As a result, Arnold's breath tickled the small of my back, sending delicious shivers down my spine. For one achingly sweet moment, we remained locked together in that intimate pose…

          "Here, put these on before anything else happens," Earl ordered tersely, tossing two life jackets at us.

          The spell between Arnold and me had been popped like a soap bubble that'd been allowed to linger in the air too long. We quickly moved apart from each other to slip on the life jackets.

          "You could've taken quite a spill if Arnold hadn't been there to catch you," Earl observed matter-of-factly. Settling back in his station next to the idling motor.

          _Yeah, the old football head is a regular knight in shining armor, _I thought shakily. I was still spinning from that close contact with my beloved. My legs felt like jelly, ready to give at any moment.

          "I did warn Helga about that ladder, Earl," Arnold piped up, raking a hand through his already tousled hair. He looked positively sheepish about the entire situation.

          Earl simply shrugged. "Aye, I suppose it's about time somebody replaced that ladder. The thing must be almost as decrepit as I am."

          "Criminy, there's no need to make a big fuss over a flimsy ladder," I interjected petulantly, desperate to redirect attention away from my klutzy self. "I'm perfectly fine. It was just a little fall."

          "Spoken like a true sailor," Earl uttered in a voice tinged with what was probably amusement. "Just to be safe, though, once we come back from Elk Island, I'll drop you kids off on the beach instead of the dock. I don't need any lawsuits on my hands."

          "Spoken like a true pragmatist, Earl."

          Arnold actually smiled at Earl's and my exchange, almost as if he were relieved to see my bossy, domineering persona emerge. _Believe me, I am, too, _I thought, shaking my head.

          "Trust me, don't argue with Helga," Arnold counseled Earl in a wry tone. "I should know."

          The old man's eyes flickered to life with a shrewd fire. "Ah, so that's what you kids were doing up there just a moment ago."

          Indignant, I drew myself up haughtily at Earl's presumptuousness. "It seems you're right about something else, football head. You do have to either put up with this guy's shenanigans or learn to ignore him."

          "I see you've also been trying to scare away business, boy."

          Arnold jammed his hand into a pocket and pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills. He thrust them at Earl, questioning dryly, "Will this redeem me?"

          "Now you're speaking my lingo, boy." Earl slid the money in his own pocket, turning to me. "Arnold here already knows the procedure, so I'll lay it out in the open for you real quick. The fare's three bucks apiece upfront, cash only. You'll have until three to visit with Aggy." He patted another pocket on his yellow slicker. "I have a bell that I'll ring to let you know when you're time's up. Savvy?"

          I shrugged nonchalantly. His plan of action sounded reasonable enough to me, especially if Arnold had been willing to entertain the coot for this long.

          Once I coughed up the three dollars to cover the fare, Earl gunned the engine and set out for Elk Island. Arnold claimed a seat near the middle of the boat, which left me with the bow section in front. Considering the very awkward moment we'd just shared, I figured it was probably best to put some distance between the two of us for the time being.

          _Too bad I can't be a cool tease like Lila and flawlessly fluster those around me, _I thought. But I couldn't be Lila any more than water could mix with oil. I wasn't feeling particularly sexy or flirty at that moment. I was more confused and uneasy than anything else. After all, I was Helga G. Pataki, a girl who didn't know the first thing about guys, especially when it came to one certain football-headed boy. That'd been clear all afternoon.

          To clear my head, I faced the sharp wind that had just kicked up. Closing my eyes, I let the breeze cool my hot cheeks and whip through my hair, which I'd decided to wear down today. The rhythmic sound of water lapping against the boat's sides began to hypnotize my ears…

          After only a few seconds in this exercise in relaxation, Earl interrupted the silence by inquiring briskly, "Boy, did you forget your harmonica today?"

          Curious, I whirled around in time to catch a glimpse of Arnold looking up himself. He seemed startled by Earl's abrupt question, almost as if he were distracted by something else on his mind. _That's weird, _I thought, frowning.

          "Oh, no, I didn't forget," Arnold reassured the old man, pulling out the musical instrument from one of his handy cargo pockets.

          "I didn't know you took up the harmonica again," I blurted without thinking.

          My beloved cast his eyes downward, shifting the harmonica from one hand to the other. "I didn't even know you noticed that I played, Helga," he replied, his voice full of wonder. I felt like bashing my head against something blunt for being such a dumb-ass as he continued, "Yeah, Earl got me hooked once again. It's practically a tradition now to pass the time traveling to Elk Island by playing some old tune of his."

          Earl pretended to be offended by Arnold's words. "Hey, those sea chanteys aren't half as bad as you say they are," he grumbled good-naturedly. He glanced at us quickly, though, before adding to me, "On second thought, girlie, maybe you've got a better request for the boy here."

          Arnold smiled at that and focused his eyes on me expectantly. I found myself wondering how I could like Earl, a mercenary with such a cliché heart of gold. Perhaps there really was something to the football head's theory about befriending the screwballs of society. _Speaking of which… _I thought.

          "How about 'Danny Boy'?" I suggested, grinning.

************************************************************************************

          Elk Island was a verdant, amoeba-shaped mass of land situated directly in the center of the river that divided Hillwood City in half. A fairly extensive network of caves honeycombed one side of the island, giving rise to the usual assortment of urban legends. The most notable of these tall tales was the one about "Wheezin' Ed," a gangster who supposedly hid a treasure somewhere in the caverns. Actually, the only entities haunting the caverns were two idiotic guys who were later busted for a counterfeit penny operation. Then there were replicas of the British and American forts as they stood in the 1840's on the eve of the Pig War. Every year, this historical event, which had secured American control over the island, was faithfully reenacted by volunteers around the city.

          Nevertheless, in all of my experience with Elk Island, I'd never seen an actual person inhabit the place. As Earl landed the motorboat on the island's sandy shoreline, my mind again turned to the Agatha Caulfield mystery.

          Arnold, who'd just finished the last notes of "Danny Boy," put away his harmonica and took off his life jacket. I shrugged out of mine and placed it beside Arnold's in the bottom of the boat.

          A pocket watch materialized from Earl's raincoat. "It's twenty past one now," he announced as he glanced at its face.

          My beloved simply nodded and hopped out of the boat. Exiting the craft as well with a single jump, I began to follow him up the beach. Now that Earl wasn't there to act as a facilitator for conversation, the silence between us ensued. It was far more deafening than any fight we could've had in that moment. _That tears it, I thought, exasperated. I had to utter something, anything._

          "So, what's Agatha's deal?" I asked. "I thought she didn't want people hanging around her house. How did you become the exception?"

          As I spoke, I had to speed up to meet Arnold's gait. _For a guy as short as he is, he's sure got a quick stride, I noted. Or was the football head trying to avoid me?_

          Still, I knew I could count on Arnold to be courteous enough to answer my inquiries. "I wouldn't say I'm the exception to any rule, Helga. I was just persistent, that's all."

          "Good old-fashioned persistence, huh?" Something in Arnold's voice made me hazard a sidelong glance at him.

          He was actually smiling to himself secretively! "How else could I do that report on her unless by waiting outside her house every day until she finally gave in and let me interview her?"

          Those words suddenly sparked a flash of something in my mind. "Wait a second. Didn't Agatha Caulfield write a book called _The Mean Old Witch and the Weird-Headed Boy?" I questioned._

          Arnold turned to regard me strangely. "Yeah, she did," he confirmed, his brow furrowing. "Why do you ask?"

          With his verification, the missing pieces of the elusive memory about one of Agatha Caulfield's works fell into place. About four years ago, Olga had sent me _The Mean Old Witch and the Weird-Headed Boy._ Like the rest of my sister's gifts, the piece of literature was left to languish in its proper place in my room, specifically the top shelf of my bookcase. Once in a blue moon, I'd get bored enough to randomly flip through the books I owned, including _The Mean Old Witch and the Weird-Headed Boy, even if I never go through the whole thing.Nevertheless, from the gist I acquired through such skimming, Arnold's explanation of how he did his report sounded very similar to the premise of __The Mean Old Witch and the Weird-Headed Boy._

          "Well, now I know how Agatha got her inspiration for that story." I fought back the urge to laugh at my beloved's odd yet admirable "persistence."

          "You've read _The Mean Old Witch and the Weird-Headed Boy_?" Arnold echoed, his face etched in palpable surprise.

          I tried to shrug casually. "My sister gave me a copy for Christmas one year."

          My amusement must've been apparent, though, for Arnold's eyes twinkled in merriment. "Gerald thought I was crazy, too, but she really isn't all that bad. You must see that through her writing, Helga."

          By this point, we'd almost arrived at the start of the thick foliage that characterized the island's interior. A tiny grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. _Somewhere nearby is Agatha Caulfield's house, _I mused. Yet another strange connection between us had been unearthed. I felt us click again like we'd done on Friday at Rhonda's party.

          "Whatever you say, football head," I retorted.

          Coupled with my old torture term for him, my use of his familiar phrase to me made Arnold smile and shake his head. "Come on, Helga." He nodded toward a pair of elms set apart from each other at what looked like the beginning of a crude dirt path. "Agatha's house is just beyond those trees." 

          We had to trudge up a gently sloping hill first in order to access this point. Once we did, however, I was treated to a surprising sight. Amidst the green scenery was a clapboard bungalow that provided a dash of brown to the setting. A stone chimney crouched at one corner of the dwelling. In one part of the yard lay a small rowboat on its side. To complete the picture, a wooden picket fence surrounded the entire location.

          "You should've seen this place when I first came here," Arnold remarked, noticing my survey of the well-kept site.

          "Then I take it that Agatha cleaned up the joint?"

          Between Agatha Caulfield's private nature and her rundown property, I could definitely understand why people would assume nobody lived on Elk Island. Currently, though, it seemed conditions had undergone a dramatic transformation, rendering the grounds almost…hospitable. What was going on here?

          "Among other things, yes," Arnold responding, pointing straight ahead.

           It was then I spotted a steel-haired woman pruning a huge bush with an equally massive pair of shears. Her large frame couldn't be hidden even by the shapeless, oversized sweat suit she wore. Even from where we were standing, I could discern the sheer formidable quality that her presence commanded. _No wonder you had to be so damn tenacious, bucko, _I thought, chuckling. _The woman looks as solid as a rock!_

          The two of us advanced down the path, quickly reaching the terminus that was Agatha Caulfield's home. Opening the gate, Arnold and I headed toward the right area of the lawn in which Agatha was located. Suddenly, the object of our search materialized from seemingly out of nowhere, the shears clutched in one hand.

          "Well, look who's decided to grace me with his presence," Agatha exclaimed. Her raspy voice made me wonder if she'd smoked in the past.

          "Hi, Agatha," Arnold answered, beaming. "Long time no see, huh?"

          "It's been about two months, by my reckoning."

          "That's also one of the first things Earl said to me today when I saw him."

          Agatha laughed. "Arnold, relics like Earl and I have nothing else better to do than keep track of the passage of time. Young people like you, on the other hand, probably barely notice things of that nature, especially with your recent graduation and all."

          _If Agatha Caulfield's supposed to be practically a hermit, how did she know about our graduation? I wondered._

          "I wouldn't exactly agree with that." He held up the _Far and Away book in plain view. "I mean, you must've been pretty busy yourself in order to whip this up in only two months, the same time period we're talking about."_

          Simply shrugging, Agatha explained, "All I had was a burst of creative energy, nothing new for a writer who's been in the business for as long as I've been. Besides, I'm afraid it's a rather marginal attempt at branching out into young adult literature, but I suppose you'll want an autograph anyway like you always do."

          "Of course. After all, you are my favorite author."

          His sparkling eyes revealed that this topic must've been a familiar ground they treaded in conversation. _A sort of inside joke, _I realized. I wasn't too surprised by the existence of that type of banter when I recalled how the friendship had formed in the first place.

          "You know how I appreciate the sentiment." Her gaze roved past Arnold to linger on me in curiosity. "Judging by Gerald's absence, though, I suspect you have something else in mind other than mere autographs."

          Although I had to concede that Agatha was pretty perceptive, I was still wary of her. "Hi, I'm Gerald's stand-in for today," I greeted her boldly.

          Arnold glared at me. "This is Helga, a _friend_ of mine." The way he put stress on "friend" made Old Betsy itch to place some emphasis of my own upside his football head in the form of a smack. "She's entering a short story contest for the first time to write about a trip to Alaska she's taking, so she came along for some writing pointers."

          For some reason, Agatha studied me thoughtfully for a second before motioning at us to follow her. "You actually caught me at a good time. I was just about to go in and take a break from my yard work. This heat can really do a number on you, and a glass of lemonade should hit the spot just about now."

************************************************************************************

          The front room of Agatha's abode stood in sharp contrast to the neat lawn outside. A hearth as well as a rudimentary kitchen dominated one section. Bookcases lined the other half, seeming to take up the remaining available space. Even so, a desk jumbled with papers and a typewriter had somehow been shoved into one corner.

          "Please excuse the clutter, Helga," Agatha remarked. "Unfortunately, I follow a system for my workspace that only I can understand."

          Evidently, Arnold was used to it, for he promptly staked out a chair at a small table parked in the general vicinity of the kitchenette. As Agatha opened the refrigerator to bring out a tall plastic pitcher, she glanced at me purposefully. 

          Admittedly, my own organizational skills were a bit on the wacky side. Nonetheless, that didn't mean I had to own up to it. I sank into a seat catty-corner from Arnold.

          Glancing around for a moment, I marveled at how Agatha could manage to squeeze so many books into such a small area. "Did you read all of these?" I demanded, gesturing to the numerous volumes contained within those bookcases.

          It suddenly occurred to me that I'd asked Dr. Bliss the same question when I'd first walked into her office over four years ago.

          Selecting three glasses from a cabinet, Agatha set them on the table. As she poured lemonade into each one, she replied, "Most of them. You do have to read extensively and draw upon a variety of writing styles when developing your own."

          "Uh-oh, I see the lesson has already started," I commented dryly.

          Arching an eyebrow, Agatha turned to return the pitcher of lemonade to its place in the refrigerator. Arnold rolled his eyes knowingly and reached for a glass.

          Then Agatha settled herself in the last chair, which was directly across from me. "I like to cut to the chase, Helga, and I notice you do, too." She took a sip of her drink. "So, while I can't stress enough the importance of my first point, I believe I can help you better with the second component of writing: experience."

          I listened as Agatha said one thing, but her words skidded along the surface of something else. "Are you saying you've been to Alaska?" I guessed, eyeing her carefully.

          "Better than that. I was born there."

          My beloved and I glanced at each other. Arnold was wearing the same expression of surprise as I was. Agatha was apparently not into divulging things about her past. _Why would she make an exception for a stranger like me? I wondered._

          "When did you live there?" Arnold questioned.

          "Until 1942, when I was about your age." She laughed, shaking her head ruefully. "Not that I had any choice in the matter. The U.S. military had to evacuate us when the Japanese attacked."

          "Wait a second. The Japanese actually attacked Alaska?" I interjected incredulously.

          Bemused, I tried to remember what I'd learned in history class this year. Too bad I was either busy sleeping or throwing spitballs at Arnold to really pay much attention.

          Arnold's concentration, on the other hand, was definitely better than mine. "Wasn't that during World War II?"

          Agatha nodded. "It's not an especially well-known fact, but the Japanese did attack another part of the U.S. other than Pearl Harbor." She adjusted her glasses over the bridge of her nose. "They managed to capture the Aleutian Islands and hold it for a year until an American counterattack drove them out. My own family had already been living there for years before that point. That's why it was so hard to leave everything behind. Still, we were able to make a new life for ourselves right here in Washington."

          "Didn't you ever…go back?" Arnold inquired quietly. I was beginning to wonder if the football head and I didn't have a psychic connection going on with all the identical thoughts we were having.        

         "No." Her voice dropped in volume considerably, softening its raspy nature. "From what I understand, there isn't much to be had in some parts of the Aleutian Islands anymore. So many lives were sacrificed in a pointless fight of honor that had hardly any strategic important. Things lost before that campaign, particularly the way of life for Natives I knew, may never be recovered, no matter how many years have passed."

          No one spoke for a few long moments. Somehow, it didn't seem appropriate to break the pensive stillness. 

          Suddenly, Agatha got up and ambled over to a bookshelf. She retrieved a plain, worn leather-bound book from the second shelf.

          "Perhaps this will explain my story better than I ever could," Agatha told us, sitting back down in her chair. "This is a journal I kept of my years in Alaska. Would you like to hear some of it?"

I was mystified by Agatha's abrupt request. "If writing is supposed to be about experience, how come you never wrote anything about your experiences with Alaska? Why share it now with us?"

It was then Arnold's face registered recognition about something. "That's not entirely true, Helga." He pulled the _Far and Away_ book out of his pocket. "Your latest book _is_ about Alaska during World War II!" he accused Agatha. "I wonder why I never made the connection until now." 

_Because you're dense, football head, I thought bitterly. _Dense about this and a lot of other things_._

Studying her cautiously, I retorted, "You're totally right about cutting to the chase, aren't you?"        

          Agatha smiled enigmatically. "Writing is ultimately about learning from mistakes, Helga," she began. "My first one was stopping altogether when I'd lost faith in my abilities, but Arnold helped me to see that I could write again." Arnold smiled slightly at that as she continued, "My second one developed quite recently. I realized I had based most of my children's stories on my years with my husband's dairy farm, and while they're stories I'll always be proud of, I shouldn't limit myself if I can do other things."

          "What are you saying?" I asked, frowning thoughtfully.

          "Never be afraid to stretch yourself beyond what you expect from yourself, because the most important thing in doing anything, let alone writing, is to express yourself straight from the heart. How else will you know what you're capable of if you don't do so? I wasn't doing that by letting some painful memories of leaving Alaska overshadow the good ones I had while living there." Her grin widened. "I guess you can see why I'm trying to 'branch' out now." 

          I smiled myself, again wondering how I could like Agatha, another mercenary with yet another proverbial heart of gold underneath that rough exterior. Something must've been in the air that day. 

"Then let's hear the true story behind _Far and Away_, Agatha," I urged.

***************************************************************************************

**Author's Note: I decided to put off Helga's departure to ****Alaska**** until the next chapter, as I've been struck with inspiration to do it from ****Arnold****'s point of view. Thanks again for reading! I'll try to update again soon! **


	16. Arnold: The Girl That's Driving Me Mad

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: All right, I know I took a long time. My temperamental computer ruined two disk files of mine for this chapter and prevented me from updating earlier like I wanted to on *cough* _Tuesday_. I put a lot of thought and energy into this chapter thanks to those damn technological glitches. Anyway, here's where we go into ****Arnold****'s dilemma more. I know I've been clearer about defining Helga's, so it might be pretty interesting to see where I go with this. I did try to allude to one matter in particular in earlier chapters, even if I haven't really addressed it until now. Enjoy and keep on reviewing!**

**Arnold: The Girl That's Driving Me Mad**

**_I think I'm gonna be sad,  
I think it's today, yeah  
The girl that's driving me mad  
Is going away…_**

**_The Beatles, "Ticket to Ride"_**

****

June 2001

"How did you like your visit with Aggy Caulfield, girlie?" Earl asked Helga as he piloted the motorboat from Elk Island back to Hillwood City's wharf district.

Except for the indistinct melody I was producing on my harmonica, it'd been quiet for the last few minutes. I figured Earl had broken the silence to kill time until we'd hit the beach.

"It was…interesting," Helga replied, throwing me a pointed look.

_Interesting? _my mind echoed. Helga's comment was a complete understatement, to say the least. From the onset of this excursion, I'd had one set of expectations for Helga accompanying me: to obtain writing tips for her short story contest. Little did I know that Agatha herself had lived in Alaska as a kid, thereby making our call all too weirdly appropriate. In fact, she'd spent the last hour or so relating to us anecdotes of her childhood from an old journal she'd kept during her time there.

The stories were entertaining and did shed more light on the life of my favorite author, but boy, talk about knocking me for a loop! Despite her outspoken nature, Agatha was a very private person, preferring to keep a low profile with even those she knew. _Then why did she become so introspective just now? _I wondered. Since she'd been forced to flee from the only home she'd ever known under cover of war, perhaps the mention of Helga's trip dredged up some of her half-buried memories. I could certainly identify with this in one particular instance of my own…

More importantly, though, what had compelled Agatha to write _Far and Away_, her most recent book that was based on these very same experiences? She hadn't been very specific about the reason. Frankly, I hadn't seen a move of this nature since _The Mean Old Witch and the Weird-Headed Boy._

_ Sometimes_ _you never know what people have up their sleeves_, I mused. Suddenly I realized that I'd pulled this exact stunt on Helga earlier today with my surprise visit to Agatha. I shrugged and continued my aimless harmonica diversion.

"Interesting, eh?" Earl stroked his whiskered chin thoughtfully. "I've seen a lot of interesting things in my years at Hillwood City, and the way that old bat can still spin a yarn would definitely qualify her for that mold."

Helga smirked. "Considering what her latest book's about, I won't argue with that."

"Am I to take that to mean you're a fan of Aggy's?" Earl surmised as he studied her closely.

"Me? Nah." In her pure offish fashion, she jerked a thumb in my general direction. "Arnold here is the brains of the operation when it comes to being an Agatha Caulfield expert. I'm just along for the ride."

Even now, I wasn't entirely certain whether Helga was complimenting or insulting me. For all I knew, it was a mixture of both.

"Girlie, I won't argue with that, either," Earl conceded, shaking his head. "Aggy sure never knew what hit her." A devilish grin marched across his weathered across his face, which wasn't a good sign to me. "Still, your choice in companions has visibly improved since your last ride with me involved a grand escape from a mob of killer carnie folk."

Startled by this remark, I immediately halted my harmonica playing. Judging from the dismayed expression that was morphing Helga's face into the color of a ripened cherry tomato, I knew I'd stumbled onto something extremely…weird.

"Carnie folk? What are you talking about?"

"I guess you never did hear the whole story, did you, Arnold? You know, the one about what happened to Harold and me after being stranded at the candy factory we took a trip to in fourth grade," Helga clarified, glaring at the both of us. "Believe me, it's a real doozy."

Because of his excessive adoration of chocolate, a boy known simply as "Chocolate Boy" had crashed the candy melee that was masquerading as the aforementioned field trip. In the ensuing chaotic departure created by this disruption, Helga and Harold had missed the bus back to Hillwood City. All we later found out was that the two had somehow managed to show up at a local Wrestlemania event. _So where does a "killer mob of carnie folk" figure in?_ I thought. One thing was for certain: this was getting more and more "interesting" by the second.

Smiling broadly, I urged, "If you insist upon telling it-"

"I don't," Helga cut in tartly.

By this point, we'd arrived at the beach. I felt a slight jolt sway the motorboat as it skidded unto the wet sand. Small, choppy waves crashed against the side of the hull. Craning my neck to the west, I could discern in the distance the wharf district piers against the blinding later afternoon sun. I became embarrassed and turned away when I recalled the earlier awkward incident of having to catch Helga in order to break her fall on that ladder.

Meanwhile, Helga had stripped off her life jacket and hopped out of the boat in one fluid motion. "Thanks for everything, Earl," she called. "It's been a real slice."

It was obvious from her hasty exit that she was trying to avoid any discussion of the subject at hand. After all, her "carnie folk" experiences with Harold as a "companion" must've been mortifying enough to explain her current flustered state. A part of me actually enjoyed such rare spectacles, for I was usually on the receiving end of such treatment.

Therefore, when I locked eyes with Earl, I instantly knew he'd been planning all along on eventually mentioning this subject. _Man, he really is like Grandpa in some ways, _I marveled, rolling my eyes.

"I'll see you later, Earl. Have a good time at The Rusty Anchor."

Earl patted the pocket where he'd put the fare money for safekeeping. "Oh, I'll manage, boy."

"I figured as much."

Tearing off my own life jacket, I cast it down beside Helga's in the bottom of the boat and scrambled out. Helga was already skulking up the beach toward the boardwalk section, which was now considerably less occupied. I launched into a brisk jog, quickly covering the distance between us.

She kept her eyes fixed directly in front of her. "Unless you want me to get slapped with a restraining order, I suggest you make sure I never go near Earl again," she practically growled.

I wisely suppressed the urge to grin. "Come on, Helga," I reasoned, "it happened a long time ago. I'm sure you could find something funny about this story of yours. That's what Earl was doing-"

Helga spun on her heel to bring her face, which was contorted in livid anger, close to mine. "Really, football head? Well, I hate being the butt of a joke!" she retorted.

"Doesn't everyone? You're not the first person to be teased, Helga."

"You'd know about that, wouldn't you?" Helga sneered without missing a beat.

Annoyance surged up in me, but I tried to play it off by shrugging casually. "And yet I'm not the one here who's all fired up."

Studying me carefully for a moment, Helga appeared to consider my observation. "All right, you've made your point," she finally grumbled. "I guess this just goes to show that you can keep up with me if you have to, bucko."

I couldn't resist smiling triumphantly. "That has to count for _something_, right?"

Her eyes narrowed at the meaning behind my words. Sighing, she consented gruffly, "Fine, I'll be a good sport and finish opening that can of worms Earl unleashed. Don't say that I didn't warn you, though. We're going to take a stroll down memory lane through Washington's freaky backcountry."

"You forget I have a cousin who lives in that part of the state," I jokingly reminded Helga.

Alarm entered Helga's eyes, causing her to snap, "Nice try, football head, but I'm not going to fall for the same trap twice. One horror story is all you're going to get from me today."

My cousin Arnie wasn't someone you exactly enjoyed knowing. "Dull as dirt was how Stinky described Arnie once, and that pretty much summed up everything when his more notable "hobbies" were collecting lint and reading ingredients on product labels. _A shame, considering Arnie's the grandson of Aunt Mitzi, _I thought wryly.

Incredibly, Lila had developed a huge crush on Arnie during his only (and I stress only) visit to Hillwood City. Helga took advantage of my intense jealousy by somehow having me agree to a plan that was guaranteed "to get Lila to dump Arnie like a bad dream." Basically, I was supposed to pretend to like someone else (namely Helga) in order to make Lila envious. In reality, Helga put me through a series of vaguely uncomfortable situations to watch me squirm. Irony had an even bigger field day when Arnie broke up with Lila because of his own crush on Helga!

So it was easy to understand Helga's hesitancy. Whether intentional or not, there was no need to bring up circumstances equally embarrassing to the both of us. 

"Fair enough, Helga," I admitted, hiding my chagrin behind a sheepish smirk. 

****************************************************************************

"Now, Simmons fainted right on my doorstep after he overheard my call to Mom?"

I nodded, chuckling at the memory our talk was reconstructing. We'd left the boardwalk section of town behind and were currently strolling through Tina Park as a short cut back to our neighborhood.

"Helga, we didn't know where you were up until that moment," I explained. "It probably came across as a shock to him that you and Harold had mysteriously showed up at Wrestlemania."

Helga rolled her eyes at me. "Come off it, Arnold. That throw pillow has bitten the dust on way too many occasions to even bother counting. Still…" A devious grin illuminated her face. "…it's a pity I didn't get to see Simmons' reaction the one time I really faze him out."

"Actually, I believe you've 'fazed out' people with worse stunts than what you've just told me about." I couldn't decide if I sounded more serious or facetious in tone.

The modes of transportation Helga and Harold had utilized in their odyssey through the "Washington's freaky backcountry" included good old fashioned trekking, jumping a subway, and riding a two-seater circus bike. Earl's part in the whole affair involved executing an escape from the "carnie folk" who were pursuing them for the bike they'd stolen. Even that plan fell through, though, for Harold sunk Earl's boat. Luckily, after a short swim to reach Hillwood City's shores, Harold's cousin let the pair in to Wrestlemania's riverfront location, thereby enjoying the excellent tickets Helga had scored for the event.

"You wound me, football head," Helga commented sarcastically. "I thought you of all people would've been impressed. I managed to spend an entire evening in Harold Berman's presence without killing the big doof." Her mischievous expression fell as an uncharacteristic gleam of sadness crept into her features. "That's more than I can say I've done with my own family."

_Your own family, _my mind echoed distantly. I didn't know how to answer that unexpected speculation.

Then again, no matter how upbeat Helga appeared, the painful subject of family never lurked far behind. Although such an issue also lay unresolved for me, there was always that remote possibility of closure later on down the road. Until then, all we were able to do was plod on that same path…

Nervous, Helga briefly fiddled with the wristband on her Timex. "Arnold, that reminds me," she abruptly announced in an oddly quiet voice. "It's already almost four-thirty."

"Four-thirty?" I repeated incredulously.

That much time couldn't have passed, could it? Earl had only dropped us off on the beach shortly after three…

"Yup," she confirmed briskly, holding up the watch face in full view. Its hands attested to this fact. "Mom could be up even as we speak, planning to cook something that'll only get burned, so I better head on home before the fire department has to be called in. Besides, if you've ever ordered from Fong Chung's, you know how it takes them forever to deliver anything, and since Dad'll want dinner as soon as he comes home, it's best to order early to avoid his bitching."

The full realization that Helga was indeed leaving tomorrow for the entire summer fully hit me. "Then I guess I'll see you when I…see you."

"Um…yeah." Helga let her gaze drift downward before lifting it again to meet my eyes with that rare frankness of hers. "Arnold, I want to thank you for…everything today."

I plastered a huge smile across my face. "Hey, what are friends for?" 

In that instant, though, I wasn't sure as to what we exactly were. Today had created more questions than answers. _Isn't that what we've always been doing? Trying to prove something to each other? _I mused.

Yet I had no clue as to what that "something" was.

Helga nodded, slipping on the unreadable mask that concealed her true emotions so well. "See you, Arnold."

"See you, Helga."

With that, she simply walked away. I watched her quickly disappear around the bend in the sidewalk that was obscured by some green shrubbery.

Countless thoughts raced through my brain. There was obvious a lot more to everything than what Helga or I had been willing to voice. It hadn't been enough to merely agree to get along for our best friends' sakes. Our formidable wills and prides still got in the way, and they certainly weren't going to change overnight. Nonetheless, an undeniable glimmer of something promising shone through the day's events. Only time would tell if that source could be tapped into properly.

One thing was certain: after today, I would never be able to think of Helga Pataki the same way again.

****************************************************************************

Cracking open the front door, I stepped into the boarding house foyer. Surprisingly, no one, not even Abner or one of Grandma's stray cats, materialized from out of thin air to greet me on my arrival home. _Where is everyone? _I wondered.

As if to answer my silent inquiry, Grandma's gruff drawl floated from out of the kitchen at the end of the hallway. "Git on out of here, slim! I'm onto your game!" 

"What game, Pookie?" Grandpa demanded, sounding fairly exasperated. "I just wanted a snack."

_Uh-oh,_ I thought, rolling my eyes. When acting in the capacity of cattle herder, Grandma ran what she liked to call "a tight homestead," keeping a particularly close watch on the "supplies." Even Oskar, for as sneaky as he was, couldn't pull off smuggling food from the refrigerator like he normally would. That was probably why he, along with the rest of the boarders, was staying away longer than usual. Unfortunately, Grandpa seemed to think he could reason with his wife, but was probably on the short end of the patience spectrum by now.

"A snack'll just spoil your appetite, and I won't be having that with all the hard work I put into dinner."

"Fine, I'll go make myself useful somewhere else," Grandpa retorted.

A hint of sympathy rimmed Grandma's voice for the first time. "Don't worry, slim, I'll ring the bell to let you know when everything's ready."

The kitchen's swinging door shot open. "Thanks a lot, Pookie," my grandfather muttered as he stormed into the hallway. Spotting me a moment later, he called out, "Oh, hi, short man."

I folded my arms across my chest. "Did Grandma again thwart your efforts at getting into your secret shrimp cocktail stash?" I guessed, smirking.

"Eh, you know how Pookie is," he tossed off indifferently enough, yet I knew he was feeling pretty annoyed and sheepish at present. "She's ruthless, especially during that cowgirl kick of hers. I couldn't even finish my _Biweekly Bugle_." He waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, that was my day in a nutshell, so let's move on to other things, like your own afternoon. How was your trip to the boardwalk?"

_Wonderful, Grandpa has to bring up that now, _I thought in dismay. I wasn't in the mood for teasing about Helga and me if the subject of who was with me should come up.

"I got to go see Agatha," I answered, trying to be deliberately vague.

"Agatha Caulfield?" Grandpa repeated, shaking his head. "Did she autograph whatever new book she has out? Lola should be pleased about that. Hasn't it been a while since the last one?" 

When you hear enough about a specific topic over a period of time, you started keeping track of it. Such was the case with Grandpa, who, like the rest of the boarders, knew much of the situation surrounding my ongoing connections with Agatha Caulfield. However, no one in my home was really into her kind of stuff, but Ernie's girlfriend Lola read extensively to "improve" herself. Somewhere along the line, she'd started following Agatha Caulfield's works, so it was kind of nice to know another fan. As a result, we often swapped opinions about Agatha's books whenever we passed by each other. 

"Yeah." I glanced around us. "Is Lola or Ernie here?"

Grandpa merely shrugged. "I don't know. This is a boarding house, not a hotel. I don't keep tabs or give out special privileges. Everybody comes and goes as they please."

"Glad you feel that way, because I'm going to my room right now," I informed my grandfather briskly as I headed up the stairs. "See you at dinner."

"Wait a second, short man," Grandpa suddenly interjected, halting my progress. "I wanted to mention something yesterday, but with all commotion over the busted AC, I completely forgot about it until now."

"What is it?" Knowing Grandpa as well as I did, this "something" could've been just about anything from more chores to…

"That one eyebrow girl," my grandfather announced. "How are things between you two? Has there been another run-in?"

"Grandpa!" I cried.

"Arnold, if you're going to cross the bridge, you have to pay the troll the proper toll," he countered, baring his roguish smirk to my flustered face.

I could see there was no budging him. _Oh, well. I might as well humor Grandpa for a couple of minutes, _I relented.

"We did talk to each other on Friday at Rhonda's party," I admitted reluctantly, "even though I don't think we'll have more run-ins any time soon. She's going to Alaska to stay with her sister all summer while her father closes up a business deal in Dallas."

"Alaska? A most _interesting_ situation, short man." 

For once, I couldn't argue with him. "I'll say. Guess who Mr. Pataki's going to deal with in Dallas? Our very own Mr. Smith." 

Grandpa studied me carefully. "Did this girl tell you all this herself?"

"Of course," I affirmed, shrugging nonchalantly. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"That friend of yours sure got gushy with you, didn't she?"

Smiling, I remembered Helga accusing me of the same thing on Friday in front of Gerald and Phoebe. In fact, now that I really thought about it, there'd been several instances in which Helga had shared confidences with me whenever she was especially troubled about something. _Funny.__ She must've been taking advantage of my reputation for dishing out handy advice, _I noted.

"Is that what it's coming to? You two are actually going to get along?" He smacked his palm on his forehead in mock desperation. "Short man, you just took away my one pleasure in life. What'll I do now in my twilight years?"

"Don't worry, Grandpa, you can have your fun," I reassured him dryly. "Things are still kind of up in the air between us." 

"Splendid," Grandpa extolled, his grin widening. He stepped away from me. "You may go. The toll has been properly paid."

Silently fuming, I climbed the remainder of the stairs without replying. Why did Grandpa have to be so maddening sometimes? 

***************************************************************************

Entering my room upstairs, I immediately headed for the shelves above my bed. One was entirely filled with a CD collection, which resembled a veritable glimpse into a time capsule. Because of Grandma and Grandpa, jazz and swing dominated a large part of my early life. As a result, I became familiar with stuff by people like Glenn Miller, Fats Waller, and Dino Spumoni. Interspersed among this was some alternative rock I liked.

A chance discovery would expose me to another area of music. During spring cleaning about two years, I came across three crates in a far corner of the attic. Contained within them was an old collection of records. Upon showing my find to Grandpa, he revealed it to belong to none other than to his son, my father! 

"Can't believe they're still lying around here," Grandpa had commented in disbelief. "I was sure they'd disappeared about the same time as when…" His voice trailed off painfully, for he couldn't have gone on without choking up.

Nothing was ever really discussed about my missing parents anyone. As a young kid, Grandpa did tell me tons of stories about their supposedly daring exploits to help me get to sleep. Only a small percentage turned out to be accurate depictions of their lives, but the truth was still pretty extraordinary. Miles, my father, and Stella, my mother, were both doctors who worked and married each other in a tiny Central American nation called San Lorenzo. Through several chance interactions, they shared an especially close connection to a group of mysterious San Lorenzo natives called the "green-eyed people." However, after my birth, Mom and Dad moved back to Hillwood City to start a new life with me. When I was about two, Eduardo, a good friend of my parents', came here and entreated them to make a medicine delivery in order to save the remnants of the "green-eyed people" that were dying out in the mountains. My mother and father never returned from this trip.

Most of the details I learned about my parents' lives together came from a journal my father had kept. There was even a rough sketch of the map featuring the route he and Mom were supposed to follow on that fateful journey. Despite this promising lead, though, Eduardo, my missing link to the whole puzzle of finding my parents, could not be located. Perhaps he'd gone with Mom and Dad on their medicine delivery. Grandpa and Grandma knew little about my mother's family. Consequently, my search ran out of the steam it needed to keep going.

Until the record collection discovery, that is. I found myself literally pouring over the numerous albums for hours. It was fascinating to be provided with yet another tie to my father, knowing that at one time he'd sifted through them at one point in the distant past. Artists of whom I'd heard of before in only passing songs on the radio became as familiar to me as Dino Spumoni (even if I never did meet any of these people like I did Dino; more on that later). That led me to purchase CD versions of my favorite records.

Most startling of all, though, was the old harmonica lying in the bottom of one of the crates. As Helga had mentioned earlier today, I did play the musical instrument for a little back in grade school. Nonetheless, I just quit one day and never picked back up on the interest until two years ago. You see, Dad was an avid harmonica player during his teenage years. My father would play these records up in his room, the very same one I currently occupied, and play the instrument in time with certain songs that featured harmonicas, which, according to Grandpa, "seemed to be a whole dang lot." In any case, while my father's involvement with the harmonica did help to pique my interest again in the instrument, Earl truly cemented my come-back with his "requests" on our boat rides to Elk Island.

Although it sounds utterly and hopelessly corny even as I write this, the harmonica I'd played "Danny Boy" on today was indeed the old one my father used. I guess I kept it around for sentimental reasons, probably because I'm way too sensitive for my own good, or at least that were the complaints I got sometimes. Still, if you'd never really known your parents, wouldn't you want to get to know them somehow, if only through vicarious experiences like Dad's journal, record collection, or harmonica hobby?

After all of this time, I hadn't finished sorting out the distant wisps of memories I had of my parents or the enigma that surrounded them. In the ordinary hours of life, I tried not to dwell on it, but every now and then, when I was reading a book or just sitting alone in a room like right now, I'd look up and see them flying away in their plane on their way to deliver the medicine. Suddenly, the misty jungle atmosphere enveloped them in a thick shroud, obscuring them from my sight…

Sighing, I selected a Led Zeppelin CD from the shelf and inserted it into my stereo. Adjusting the machine to the proper track, I listened to the opening notes of the song that began to play from the speakers.

"This one's for you, Mom and Dad," I proclaimed to a picture hanging on my wall. In the photograph were three smiling people: a tall, sturdily-build blond man, a petite, auburn-haired woman, and a tiny blond boy with an equally tiny blue hat perched on his distinctly-shaped head. Then I began to play Dad's old harmonica to the tune of "When the Levee Breaks:"

_If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break,_

_If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break,  
When The Levee Breaks I'll have no place to stay.   
  
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan, _

_Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan,  
Got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home,   
Oh, well, oh, well, oh, well.   
  
Don't it make you feel bad   
When you're tryin' to find your way home,   
You don't know which way to go?   
If you're goin' down South   
They go no work to do,   
If you don't know about __Chicago__.   
  
Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,   
Now, cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,   
When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move.   
  
All last night sat on the levee and moaned, _

_All last night sat on the levee and moaned,  
Thinkin' about me baby and my happy home.   
Going, going to __Chicago__... Going to __Chicago__... Sorry but I can't take you...   
Going down... going down now... going down...._

******************************************************************************

"Hello?" I spoke into the receiver.

It was the next morning, and breakfast had just ended. I'd happened to be passing the downstairs hall phone when it rang, so I naturally answered the call.

"Hey, man, how's it going?" Gerald questioned in an upbeat voice.

Chuckling, I glanced at the clock on the wall. Between the two of us, I was always more of the morning person of the duo. _Gerald_ _never calls this early unless he has a reason,_ I guessed. 

"Gerald, it's only nine o'clock. Since when are you so cheerful this morning?"

"Since I've had my daily jolt of caffeine. Don't know what I'd do without the wonderful invention of Coke." Over the line, I could hear my best friend chug the liquid down his throat. "Plus, it's kind of nice to have no school for the next three months."

"We still have our jobs," I pointed out matter-of-factly, "and if I'm not mistaken, Mrs. Vitello scheduled us to work today."

"Are you raining in on my parade?" Gerald demanded in a mock offended tone. 

"Your parade is too big for me to rain on," I quipped, wanting to mess with him a little. 

"I may be full of hot air, but that same hot air effectively deals with bitching customers." Gerald snickered, and I could imagine the broad smile unfolding on his face. "That is, unless you'd like to take a crack at it?"

"No way, I'll reserve that right for you," I quickly refused, meaning every word.

"That's what I thought." He sounded like he was on the verge of a huge laughter eruption. 

"Go ahead, Gerald, let it _all_ out," I urged dryly. 

"Nah, man, I couldn't do that. I just called to shoot the breeze a little, not start shit. Anyway, I won't waste my _breath_ on work until we have to, which, by my reckoning, is one o'clock. That means we have approximately four hours of perfectly good summer vacation to fritter away. However shall we do that?"

_I knew Gerald had something planned, _I thought in amusement.

"All right, what's your deal?" I inquired bluntly.

"I'm glad you asked, Arnold. Isn't little old Aggy up for a visit by now? I'm dying to have some of her cookies and lemonade again," Gerald enthused. "Mom doesn't seem to stock the house with anything as good as what Aggy carries."

For a moment, I hesitated. _Should I tell Gerald about that day with Helga?_ I wondered. Even though I knew I probably should've done it, I pretty much chickened out at the last minute.

"Sorry, Gerald, your stomach'll have to wait. I already went to see her yesterday. It's a long story that I don't want to get into now, but I'll give the run-down sometime soon."

"Oh." A fleeting note of disappointment passed through my best friend's voice. "I think I got the better end of the deal. Phoebe and I went to another movie yesterday." He abruptly snapped his fingers. "In fact, Phoebe said something about Helga during the previews-"

"She's going to Alaska for the summer," I finished for him.

Surprise colored the tone of Gerald's next statement. "Yeah, did Helga tell you that at Rhonda's party?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Well, that would certainly explain why Helga was so tight-lipped for the last two weeks or so. Her old man really did a number on her by shipping her out to that perfect sister of hers. If I'm not mistaken, I believe Phoebe is over there now to say good-bye to Helga."

I was surprised by the sympathy in Gerald's voice. Then I remembered the Jamie O. situation Gerald was going through and realized how well he could relate to Helga at present. _Too bad they can't stand each other, _I thought sadly.

"Speaking of which, Gerald, when is your brother coming home?" I asked quietly.

Gerald's voice dropped considerably. "Tomorrow." A deep voice in the background caused my best friend to add swiftly, "I have to go, Arnold. Dad's going on about the phone bill again."

"See you at Mrs. Vitello's, Gerald." 

Almost immediately after the phone line went dead, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" I called out to no one in particular, heading toward the front door.

Upon opening it, I was confronted with two people. One was a boy about my age who looked very similar to me: a short, compact build swathed in jeans and T-shirt, extremely light blonde hair, and always that oblong-shaped head. Looking very bored, he carried several large suitcases with apparent ease. Even though the other individual was much older than her companion, it was obvious her sense of style was far more off-the-wall: a short, spiky haircut and a bright purple suit with matching pumps. She'd always reminded me of Joan Rivers, except she was _way_ funnier and not as offfensive. 

"Hello, Arnold," the woman exclaimed in a loud voice. She peered over my shoulder into the interior of the house. "Where's my brother Phil?" 

"Aunt Mitzi? Arnie?" I echoed in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

**Author's Note: This chapter was very special to me for several reasons. We're at a crossroads, people! Helga's off to Alaska, so the plot's going to move much more quickly now. How did you guys like the plot twist I had at the end? Trust me, I have more tricks up my sleeves. Thanks to Willy D. for inspiring me with your "challenge" to include my new music interest in the story (see, a quote did appear soon). Jae, thanks for your encouragement as always. I'm indebted to you for your support as well as to Willy D.'s for the reviews on my new story. I also dedicate this chapter to the memory of my late father, a true Led Zeppelin fan who left me his legacy in the form of old records and a trusty turntable. For everyone else, hope this chapter was worth the wait! Thanks again for reading!**


	17. Helga: My Mountain of Dreams

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: I'm baaack! My apologies for taking so long. This chapter was _really_ hard to write. There was so much I wanted to include! Since this is the chapter where Helga _finally_ embarks for Alaska, I tried to be as accurate as possible in the trip's details, but don't blame me if I happen to take artistic license here. After all, it's only fanfiction. Anyway, I must express my gratitude to the response I received last chapter (especially yours, Amelia Badelia; good luck in your creative writing course). I'll keep on trying to give everyone the best possible story I can write. Enjoy and keep on reviewing!**

**Helga: My Mountain of Dreams**

**_Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,_**

**_Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems…_**

**_Led Zeppelin, "Going to California"  _**

June 2001

            I slowly edged open the front door to my house just enough to ease myself inside. Peering into the first doorway to my left, I was confronted with the all too familiar sight of Miriam sprawled out on the old brown couch in the living room. Several mugs crowded the top of an oak end table situated next to the couch. Apparently, my mother had continued her smoothie binge into the afternoon up to the point of conking herself out into temporary oblivion.

            Sighing heavily, I stalked into the living room to gather up the cups. Their strong alcoholic odor assailed my sense of smell with all the kick of a punch to the solar plexus. _It's brandy,_ I realized in horror. I knew from previous experience that brandy truly rendered Mom dead to the world until the day after consumption. Since we had to leave bright and early tomorrow, Bob wouldn't be too pleased about the "wrench" Miriam had thrown into his Dallas works.

            Then again, it wasn't the first time she'd progressed from rum to brandy at an inopportune moment. I would just have to do what I always did: clean up the mess tonight so that she could sleep out her drunkenness and administer a cup of coffee and aspirin for the nasty hangover expected in the morning. _It's funny that a fourteen-year-old would know how to get really smashed without actually having done it before,_ I marveled ruefully. 

            Carrying the mugs into the kitchen, I dumped them into the sink and ran some hot, soapy water. The disgusting blender rested on the counter next to me, so I detached the plastic jar and cover to join the equally dirty cups. As strange as it sounds, I actually enjoyed scouring out the containers. A strange element of release permeated the process; it was almost as if I could wash away Mom's horrible alcoholism by scrubbing away the foul odor on the dishes beneath my grasp. I might even venture that I cleansed myself into forgetfulness.

            At least I was able to do that until I opened a cabinet to put away the mugs and blender parts after I had finished cleaning and drying them. Because there was no space on the cabinet's two lower shelves, I had to utilize the remaining room on the very top level. That was when I spotted a small bottle of that blasted brandy tucked away in the back. Bob, who has always feared liability for the "funny business" I could get into while under his roof, required that Mom lock the booze in the dining room sideboard. Getting Miriam to actually follow protocol, though, was a dicey business at best. Therefore, I would occasionally stumble onto the offensive drink in weird-ass places of the house.

            Something that had been tightly winding itself within me suddenly snapped. I grabbed the half-empty brandy flask, dumped its contents down the sink, and chucked the thing into the trash. For one fleeting second, I again had control of a situation that was in reality beyond my meager powers of management.

            When helplessness inevitably descended up on me once more, I sank to the floor in a frustrated heap. _How much more irresponsible could Mom get?_ I wondered angrily. The towel I'd used to dry the dishes with slipped off the counter and fluttered down beside me. Although I hurled the object across the room with as much violence as I could muster, it landed with a lackluster _splat_ against the refrigerator, thereby making the whole action pointless.

            The next thing I knew, bitter tears started to ooze out. As the stung my eyes, I realized I was acting like a bawling fool. _Pull yourself together, Helga,_ I scolded myself.

            I clamored up form the floor, simultaneously running a hand across my face to wipe away the tears and banging the cabinet door closed with the other. Restless and edgy, I glanced at the clock above the refrigerator. It was a quarter past five, which abruptly reminded me of the call to Fong Chung's I was supposed to make.

            My stomach turned at the thought of Chinese food. For that matter, any form of nourishment, regardless of whether or not it was Chinese, probably wouldn't sit well with me in my current frame of mind. Nonetheless, as long as I didn't have to choke down one of Miriam's bland meals, I figured I might as well pick up the phone and dial Fong Chung's number.

            Within minutes, I'd rattled off the tired list of items we always ate. "It should be there about an hour from now," the man taking my order declared tersely.

            In the background, I could discern the harried commotion of the restaurant going through its dinner rush, indicating that the promise of when the food was expected to come likely wouldn't occur. Rolling my eyes, I crisply replied, "Right. See you then."

            As soon as I hung up, I heard the front door bang open. "Olga, you there?" Dad hollered.

            I deliberately chose not to respond to his question. _Let the prey come to me,_ I thought wickedly.

            Bob materialized in the kitchen doorway a few seconds later with his briefcase clutched in one hand, frowning as deeply as when I'd last beheld him this afternoon. "Why didn't you answer me?" he demanded without preamble.

            "As tactful as always, Dad," I retorted dryly.

            "Don't be smart," my father snapped, directing his hard gaze toward the whole breath and length of the room. "Did that Alfred kid ever go home?"

            _I knew that was coming,_ I observed with an almost smug sullenness.

            "His name is Arnold, Bob, and he left shortly after you did." I didn't bother to add that I'd accompanied my beloved. "Besides, I didn't invite him inside."

            "Good. I don't need to worry about boys lurking around my house. You're too young to be dating anyway."

            My blood began to boil. "Oh, you won't have to lose much more sleep over me. I'll be out of your hair and in Olga's 'perfect' care soon enough," I pointed out in a flat voice.

            Dad pursed his lips. "I don't have time to play games with you, little lady. Did you at least call Fong Chung's yet?"

            "Yeah, but Mom's passed out right now, so I don't think she'll be awake any time soon to enjoy your generous take-out option for dinner."  
            My father's mouth became a thin, tight line. The prominent vein in his forehead throbbed. "I'll be in my office for the rest of the evening." He dug into a pocket with his free hand and tossed a few crumpled up bills on the kitchen's island. "When the food comes, just put both your mother's and mine portions in the refrigerator until we can get to them." With that, he stalked out, leaving me very, very, very drained.

            _Hell, you'd think I'd be used to the surrealism of it all by now,_ I mused. _Bob can ignore things, so why can't I?_

            That was the problem, though. For my entire life, the circumstances at home made me feel as if I were a dangerously live wire whose raw nerve endings had been exposed. The only thing I could do to cope with the hurt and anger that resulted was fight back, and fight back I did, usually with anything I could get my hands on. It didn't matter what methods I used, whether the occasion called for insults, threats, or Old Betsy herself, just as long as I was able to push away everyone and everything. Any tenderness I might've shown or experienced was shoved into the deepest possible recesses of my mind.

            Nonetheless, I was a miserable failure at completely detaching myself from the world. Arnold's entrance into my life had ensured that. The very essence of his good-naturedness compelled me to keep on caring about people like my parents in spite of the glaring reality of their disinterest in me. After all, I was obligated to have a modicum of respect for them, for they'd given me this life, whatever it was, and there had been decent memories interspersed among my overall experiences with them…

            "No, I don't owe them a damn thing," I gritted through my teeth, swallowing back the bitter tears that threatened to fall again.

            Not for the first time in the past two days, I was immensely grateful of the favor Bob had bestowed upon himself as well as Miriam and me. I hadn't realized it at first, but today had especially taught me that I did desperately need to get the hell away from anything and everything reeking of Hillwood City, namely my parents, Phoebe, Gerald, and most of all…

            _Don't even think about it, Helga, you know you can't,_ I berated myself, firmly sealing off my mind from any more introspection. There'd been way too much of that today.

*******************************************************

            Washington's naturally rainy climate finally caught up with Hillwood City again. When that fateful Monday rolled around, dark clouds scuttled across what'd been a perfectly clear sky since last Wednesday, marring the serene, pretty picture summer was supposed to be. I didn't mind too much; after a night of tossing and turning in a fruitless attempt to sleep, the threat of a downpour appropriately matched my stormy mood.

            Dad didn't let his wife's massive hangover to cramp his style. In spite of my smart-ass attitude, I also remained faithful to that time-honored Pataki custom. Basically, we left Miriam to her coffee and aspirin while we loaded our suitcases into the trunk of Bob's Hummer.

            By almost nine o'clock, the targeted time of departure, I was toting out the final piece of the luggage: a small blue carry-on I always stored my essentials in while traveling. In fact, since I was going to be on a ferry for a good percentage of the trip, I was forced to pack a relatively light load out of necessity.

            "Is that the last of it?" Bob called when he saw me step out onto our step.

            Stomping down the steps, I stuffed my carry-on into the Hummer's half-full trunk. "As long as someone can pry Mom from the coffeepot, everything should be a go," I breezily declared. 

            My father looked askance at the house as he slammed the trunk door shut. "I'll go fetch Miriam. I have to lock up anyway." Pulling a set of keys from his khakis pocket, he started for the front door, ordering me briskly, "Wait in the Hummer. We'll be along in a minute."

            _Fine by me,_ I silently agreed as I reached for the handle on the back driver's side door. "Fetching" my mother was never a chore I relished, so my father was more than welcome to take a stab at it when he wasn't pinning me with the damn responsibility…

            Someone from behind me broke into my thoughts without warning. "Hey, Helga."

            Startled, I whirled around. My jolt quickly wore off as I spotted Phoebe shouldering her black backpack purse only a short distance away from me, her features frozen in an odd combination of expectancy and nervousness. We'd parted on pleasant enough terms Saturday with Phoebe pledging the usual best friend spiel to drop by before I left. To be honest, though, I hadn't really thought about the possible call since its inception because of last-minute preparations crowding up my mind. 

            "Hey, Phoebs. Isn't this a great day for traveling?" I asked, raising a hand heavenward to indicate the overcast sky.

She cracked a small grin at my sarcastic observation, then glanced inquisitively at the Hummer door in my grasp, which I abandoned to join Phoebe where she was standing. "Have you just finished packing?" she inquired.

            "Yup." A taut smirk asserted itself across my face. "You know Bob. When it comes to work, he's very religious about sticking to a schedule."    

            _The next time I even blink, we'll probably be in Seattle so Dad can dump me off on that damn ferry, _I silently added, rolling my eyes.

Phoebe shook her head in amazement. "I still can't believe you're going to spend the entire summer in Alaska." 

"I know, Phoebs. What're you going to do without me for all those months?" I teased.

"I'll survive." 

Although her voice was tinged with amusement at my ribbing, the goofy little smile she smeared across her face gave me the real indication of the meaning behind her words. Like the horrible sadist that I am, I pounced upon her with all the mischievousness of a cat about to kill a mouse.  

"That's right. I'm certain you'll find plenty of things to do with tall hair boy," I pointed out, my tone dripping with volumes of innuendo. The apples of Phoebe's cheeks were instantly infused with a dash of pink, a sure sign of her growing discomfort, and I couldn't resist pushing the envelope a bit further by winking shamelessly and adding, "Not that that's a problem by any means."

By now, the bright crimson blushing scourge had invaded my best friend's entire face. Despite her obvious embarrassment, though, she let out a short chuckle and remarked wryly, "Helga, I should've known you'd sneak something like that in before leaving." 

I threw my hands up in mock protest. "Hey, I can't help it if you set yourself up so easily."

"Yeah, I do ask for it, don't I?" Phoebe rejoined with equal breeziness.

"Remember, you said it, not me."   

Our banter quickly dissolved into laughter after that last comment. I savored the unrestrained moment, for it felt good to reaffirm our mutual love of irony. That'd been the glue holding together our camaraderie of eleven years. Whatever we had to express to each other could be done through this medium…even the deepest, most personal emotions we could never quite articulate, and believe me, there were a lot of those sentiments seething beneath the surface at present.    

As always, my parents had flawless timing. Miriam suddenly lurched out of the house, nursing a cup of steaming coffee. Bob himself was right on heels. While he paused to shut and lock the front door, his wife began her jerky descent down the steps. That was Phoebe's and my cue to sober up fast.

"Hello, Mrs. Pataki," Phoebe greeted my mother, her smiling face morphing into a tight mask of civility.

Mom gazed at my best friend with her usual air of momentary uncertainty before the fogginess cleared up enough for her to remark, "Hi, Phoebe. Have you come by to say good-bye to Helga?"

"Doy!" I interjected before Phoebe could waste her breath on such a stupid question.

Miriam seemed to have already lost interest in the art of small talk, for she shrugged indifferently, took a sip of coffee, and rounded the front of the Hummer to claim her rightful shotgun position. I soon realized why: Bob was striding past us as well to reach the Hummer, but his face blatantly registered disgruntled impatience at Phoebe's presence, which he naturally didn't hesitate to vocalize as he hauled his massive body inside the driver's seat.

"You about done there, Olga, or is that football-headed boy also due to put in another appearance today?"

Phoebe turned to regard me inquiringly, and my face inflamed. _God, Dad, do you have to bring up Arnold now?_ my mind screamed in horror. Until then, I'd been able to block out all thoughts of him…

"Helga, what did Mr. Pataki mean by that?" 

"It's a long story," I burst out irritably, hoping she would back the hell off if she knew what was good for her.

Luckily, the possibility for any kind of pursuit in the matter was cut off by the Hummer's loud engine roaring to life. Even though I was staring straight ahead, I could literally feel my father's steely glare boring into the back of my head.

He confirmed my suspicions by barking, "What I just said wasn't a suggestion for you to take or leave, Olga!"

"All right, all right! Give me a sec, will you, Bob!" I retorted, catching one cursory glimpse of his sarcastic snorting at my response.

When I faced Phoebe again, she was staring at me long and hard. "So...this is it, huh?" she asked quietly.

I sighed, hating to rush my good-bye like this. Out of anyone I knew, she deserved a decent farewell the most.

"Yeah, I guess, Phoebs." I swallowed back the lump that was beginning to form in the back of my throat. "Don't let any of the jokers in this neighborhood push you around while I'm gone. If they try to get wise with you anyway, warn them I'll pull out their appendixes out the old-fashioned way when I come back."

The brief monologue I'd just delivered to Phoebe was reserved as standard bullshit lip service (weren't most of my threats already like that?) for whenever I went out of town. From the way Phoebe cocked her head to the side and smiled at me, though, I was aware that she, like many people, considered such idiotic fodder pertinent enough to suit a variety of occasions, which definitely weren't in short supply these days.

"Well…if you're willing to do all that for me, then I should probably give you this," my best friend abruptly offered. Curiosity flooded my consciousness as Phoebe unzipped her backpack purse and reached inside the main compartment. She pulled out a small pink book and handed it to me, explaining, "I hope it'll help you with taking down things that might be useful for your short story contest."

Utterly surprised at my best friend's unexpected gesture, I didn't quite know what to say. Given Phoebe's scientific inclinations, however, I shouldn't have been too bowled over at the fact she intended it to be a filler device of my future "observations" about Alaska. The color selection of the book was also obvious. _Gee, I wonder what pink's an allusion to,_ I thought, rolling my eyes. 

"Thanks, Phoebs. I wasn't expecting this." 

"Tell you what, Helga; I'll sweeten my end of the deal, you know, literally speaking." Her grin became flavored with a telltale hint of secrecy I hadn't noticed before. "I'll be sure to partake of plenty of 'ice cream' this summer. I know how important that particular food is to you."

Bob chose this exact second to once more make his restlessness known by honking the horn in several sharp, short blasts. "Let's hurry it up, Olga! We don't have all day!" 

"You'd better get going, Helga," she counseled, the already broad smirk on her lips growing as expansive as an open plain at my beet red features.

"Ice cream" had been our codename for years to signify whenever the topic of the conversation had shifted to Arnold. Of course she'd promise to keep tabs on him during my absence, even if she probably wouldn't follow up her pledge. Still, it wasn't about "reassurance" alone. _Phoebe's seeking revenge for the cheap shot I cracked about her little boyfriend,_ I realized.

At least I was nothing if not a master at throwing back other people's words in their faces. Shaking my head in grudging admiration, I climbed into the back seat, rejoining, "I should've known you'd sneak something like that in before leaving." 

            Phoebe graciously allowed me to have the last word edgewise this time, for she simply smiled and waved good-bye.

As Dad sped off, I turned around to gaze at my best friend one last time. She was standing very still, the expression of her face hidden under the dazzling light of the sun that was directly in my line of vision. 

"Take care of yourself, Phoebs," I whispered, facing the front again. "You're going to need it."

I was soon going to discover I needed it as well.

***************************************************

            Most, including myself, entertain the notion that Hillwood City is a thriving, healthy community in its own right. In the greater scheme of things, though, our town is one of many far-flung satellites in the Seattle metropolis complex. As such, all major services like airplane and ferry transportation are orientated in the center of that urban universe, so periodic runs into Seattle were nothing new to me. Therefore, while Bob concentrated on driving and Miriam on sleeping, I also withered away the hour it typically takes to travel to Seattle in my own customary way: drowning myself in pounding rock music. The bands featured on this trip: Linkin Park opening with Fuel headlining.

            Since my late morning ferry left before my parents' early afternoon flight, Bob's first priority upon entering Seattle was to navigate through the city's heavy traffic toward the waterfront. As luck would have it, the ominous storm clouds unleashed their fury the very second we pulled up at the ferry terminal. Grabbing my carry-on and suitcase from the trunk, I had to sprint like hell onto the gigantic, blue-hulled vessel awaiting me.

            Riding a ferry wasn't unfamiliar ground I'd never treaded on before. Back when my sister was still in college, she competed in several piano recitals in British Columbia. Especially enamored with the Canadian province's capital city of Victoria, Olga dragged me along on a couple of day excursions to that place, which was just a convenient ferry ride away to nearby Vancouver Island. According to Olga herself, these were great opportunities to "discover" our "neighbor" to the north. Actually, she was trying to blend together culture and quality time in a way overused combination that was as pathetic as ever, but I naturally didn't have the heart to call foul on her then or even now. The moral of the story? Ferries are excellent about giving you time to stew over something if you're pissed off enough.

            Unfortunately, an abundance of time was the only thing I currently had going for me. For the next two hours, I took cover from the drizzling rain by huddling under the awning of an unenclosed observation deck near the bow. I was lucky to have claimed my perch when I did, for the boat was already filled to the rafters, and it was just June. Popularity for the ferries' delightful form of travel always heightens with the arrival of summer.

            At Bellingham, Washington, I transferred over to an even bigger, blue-hulled vessel. Called the _Columbia_, this ferry would take me all the way to Juneau. That much I knew to anticipate. Nonetheless, because the downpour still hadn't let up any, I was wondering about where I was going to seek dry shelter for the next few days. Dad had been fortunate to acquire a walk-on ticket at last-minute notice, but not a cabin reservation, so he figured I could make do with camping out on the decks themselves. After all, it was the rare individual who _wouldn't_ have to spend the night in a deck chair or tent at one point or another when using the ferry system for an extended amount of time. Believe me, I remember seeing such people on my jaunts to Victoria. In addition, my father reasoned it wouldn't hurt a "city girl" like me to learn how to "rough it" as he had to do during his Vietnam tour of duty in 1969 (I swear that man liked to bring up the close calls he'd weathered there like it was some badge of hard-ass honor).  

*********************************************************

            Within minutes of boarding the _Columbia_, I heard someone holler out behind me, "Hey, Helga!"

            Startled, I lifted my eyes up to meet the smiling gaze of a leggy blonde striding toward me. Despite her obvious model potential, the girl wore no make-up, had her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, and was attired in faded jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and boots. She carried a piece of beat-up luggage in each hand.

            "Connie?" I echoed, narrowing my eyes at the figure before me.

"In the flesh, Helga," Connie replied. 

            Connie Winfield was Tish's younger cousin. She'd worked with Tish as the assistant coach of Helga's Angels for about three years. Although we weren't the best of friends or anything, we got along well enough. Once Connie graduated from high school and started attending the University of Washington, I saw even less of her and had to rely on Tish for any news of her. However, since I quit the bowling team soon thereafter, my contact with Tish herself was also curtailed, and I lost touch with the direction both of their lives were going. I suppose I didn't want them knowing much about the developments in my life either and strove to keep things as distant as possible. When I was finally compelled to ask for personal advice from Tish in regard to the Alaska trip, she clued me in on a story about Connie that became the crux of her subsequent "counseling" session. 

            Toward the end of her freshman year, Connie heard from several upperclassmen that many students travel to Alaska for summer work. Therefore, it's usually possible to get a position in a fish cannery in most coastal towns, so Connie packed her bags last summer and headed north. Work on the slime line, though, generally proves to be hard and unpleasant. Furthermore, the pay is low. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, if the season is good, you could put in long hours and earn considerably more than at a normal summer job. Connie buckled down and managed to accomplish that goal. 

I was impressed Tish's cousin could bear such disgusting work and come out on top of the ordeal with some savings toward paying off her student loans. Even more amazing was to discover that Connie had decided to major in marine biology as a result of that brief job and would be returning to Alaska this summer for another stint in the canneries. In fact, when Tish found out I was going to be on the _Columbia_, she informed me Connie would be on there as well. Tish even went one step further by declaring she'd alert Connie to my presence and suggested that if I run into her, I should stick with her until she had to get off at Petersburg.

To be honest, I hadn't really expected to encounter Connie in these congested conditions. Still, the rain had left me feeling pretty miserable and hoping to meet up with a friendly face somehow. As a result, I was enormously grateful to Connie for showing up when she did.

My lips curled back into a smirk. "What a small world, huh?"

Connie's own mouth twitched, for she knew as well as I did that I was handing her a line of foregone bullshit. "Nah, it was just a matter of timing the ambush right," she tossed back effortlessly.

_Glad to see Connie still hasn't lost her sense of humor, _I observed dryly.

"What say you and I nab a couple of the good spots before we're left with the slim pickings for getting out of this downpour?" Connie proposed. A teasing smile abruptly broke out on her face. "Unless you've got a cabin stashed around here somewhere that I don't know about?"

"Nope, I have to 'rough it' in this lovely weather," I scoffed.

Tish's cousin laughed. "Helga, if you think Washington's bad enough, wait until you reach Southeast Alaska itself."

"In other words, I'd better get used to the rain."

"Well, the people who live there aren't waterproof for nothing," Connie retorted crisply. Both she and Tish had the refreshing yet equally infuriating ability to be blunt and not give a damn about offending anyone.

The two of us headed toward the upper levels of the boat. Our destination was the solarium at the very top. This glassed-in gallery acted as the perfect barrier against the rain. Although it was already fairly crowded, Connie and I were nonetheless able to snag a deck chair a piece for the each of us. 

"When did Tish let you know I was going to Alaska?" I inquired as we sat down.

"Oh, she called Saturday and gave me all the details. The notice was a bit last-minute, though. We probably wouldn't have met up with each other at all had I not spotted you by chance."

She didn't appear entirely put-off, just curious. I couldn't really blame Connie for feeling that way, considering Tish had approached her from out of nowhere with my story. __

"Sorry about that, but the news of the trip was kind of dumped on me, too, right in the middle of getting ready for graduation."

Nodding, Connie affirmed, "So I heard." She paused for a moment, a smile slowly illuminating her face like a signal flare of more bantering to come. "By the way, how _was_ your graduation? Anything worth mentioning?"

Personally, I didn't feel like elaborating on my graduation. Besides, Connie had already admitted to hearing about the event's "details" from Tish, so she was just aiming for small talk overkill here. I figured I could accommodate her anyway by focusing on a neutral aspect of that affair. _Phoebe's always safe to talk about,_ I decided. Connie had become acquainted with Phoebe when my best friend accepted during her fifth grade year a position for managing Helga's Angels. In fact, Phoebe still maintained the post even after Connie and I left. She's that dedicated to the things she's involved in.

"Phoebe was the valedictorian," I offered

            "I'm not surprised. Phoebe's a smart girl."

            _Hmmm…maybe I could pull my trump card, _I thought. Like Tish, Connie was no fool when it came to surmising who held a torch for whom. Everyone in Helga's Angels had also guessed as much and would always give my best friend a hard time about it, especially when we had to go up against Arnold's team. Okay, maybe in reality I'd made a few passing remarks in reference to Phoebe's hot crush on tall hair boy in front of everyone, and word got around the group. Sue me.    

"That's not all the titles Phoebe's claiming right now. She's officially Gerald Johanssen's girlfriend."

"Really? Jamie O.'s kid brother?" Connie had been one year behind Jamie O. in high school. "Does that mean I lose the pool?"  

            "Yep, I win. Remember, your bet's off by about two years."

            "Damn," Connie swore, snapping her fingers in mock disappointment. A moment later, though, she laughed and protested, "Okay, we're getting off topic here. Seriously, did you yourself have a highlight of the evening?"

            _Do you really expect me to honestly answer that? _I thought, a flash of my balcony talk with Arnold that night whizzing through my mind. 

            "Oh, sure. Everything was so magical and wonderful." I snorted. "Come on, Connie, don't tell me you're asking me this just so you can give me that cliché crud about how high school will be some of the best years of  my life?"

            She studied me curiously. "Helga, high school wasn't the best of times for me at all. Why would I mislead anyone about that, much less you?" 

            "And college?" I asked warily.

Connie merely lifted her shoulders in a gesture of indifference, her eyes a little distant. "I wouldn't give it an unqualified thumbs-up either."

"Oh." 

I was puzzled by this sudden shift of attitude in Tish's cousin. It was as if I were walking in the middle of a fog without quite knowing which direction I should head, yet I had the strangest feeling that I had been there before. 

Bemused, Connie glanced outside and remarked, "There's one thing I can't dispute with: Alaska is a remarkable place." Then, as suddenly as the solemnity in her manner had appeared, so did it dissipate. She hopped up, gathering her bags as she rose. "Hey, the rain's stopped. Let's go out on the deck and check out the view. It's breathtaking!"  

           The weather had indeed taken a turn for the better. "Sounds like a plan to me," I agreed.

            I wondered who needed the distraction more: Connie or me.

**************************************************

_June 7, 2001_

_            I can't believe it already been about three days since Phoebe first gave me this book. I haven't attempted to write anything in it up until now, and that's only because I have time to kill on board the plane I'm on. One word of advice about flying in Southeast Alaska: don't schedule anything tightly around a flight. I'm not kidding when I say it took forever to get off the ground. Juneau's airport is positioned on a misty mountainside next to the water, so the departure was a definitely a hair-raising event._

_            On a similar note, I struck up a conversation with the old woman sitting next to me just for the hell of it, and she claims to be an old pro at flying in these conditions. According to her, landings are even tougher to execute than take-offs. There's a verb for describing such experiences: to overhead. It means that when you fly to one place, you could end up being dropped off in another location. I'm lucky I'm not landing anywhere else in the Southeast. All I have is a brief stopover in Anchorage and then it's on to Fairbanks._

            _Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. I should backtrack and explain what happened on the ferry ride_. _For the last couple of days, Connie and I traveled through a literal wonderland of islands both large and small, vast bays and inlets, massive glaciers, and towering mountains. Forests lush and green like a tropical rain forest spread across the landscape for as far as the eye could see. Sometimes we spotted different kinds of animals- moose, bears, deer, to name a few- going about their business along the beaches and coves. Out on the water, we often saw sea otters, sea lions, killer and humpback whales, sea gulls, and bald eagles. It's easy to understand how Connie was inspired to become a marine biologist. _

_            Aside from having nature's eye candy to look at, though, daily life aboard the _Columbia_ wasn't exactly four-star quality. I mean, basic stuff like food and showers were available, but you can get pretty exasperated at running into so many long-ass lines. Plus, the only good places to sleep on a ferry are the solarium and recliner lounges. Otherwise, you're stuck out in the open, exposed to the endless gusts of wind blowing right on you. Besides, you don't have much choice in the matter of how you travel in Southeast Alaska. It's just too difficult to build roads through those icy mountains and across the rough terrain of the islands. That's why the Alaska Marine Highway ferry system was invented. _

_            What's really weird is the hours Alaska keeps during the summer. Now, I've heard from my sister of the sun supposedly shining deep into the night and dipping down low in the sky for a few short hours before rising again. However, being told about something is totally different from actually experiencing it. It truly feels as if the sun refuses to set. You wouldn't believe how many people seem to be filled with unlimited energy. Naturally, sleep is expendable. Who needs it when the sky is light all night?  _

_            There were stops, of course, and a smidgen of time to explore a couple of towns' waterfronts. Ketchikan was the first on the list. I didn't care too much for the touristy stores that make up the main drag. The commotion reminded me of a last-minute rush on Christmas Eve when shopping time is running out fast. Wrangell, on the other hand, was much quieter. It had far less visitors, and the small-town spirit really appealed to me. At any rate, Connie and I only had enough time to look for and buy some decent grub in place of the greasy ferry food we were tired of eating._

_            At Petersburg, I couldn't have found a better tour guide in Connie, who had already spent one summer here and would be staying again for another. In fact, the first thing we saw as the ferry pulled in were the town's canneries perched on these wooden support structures called pilings and ringed on the water side by fishing vessels and private boats. Above the harbor, boardwalks and wooden bridges lead to the main street in town, and houses on more pilings hang over the marshy land. Can you guess what the main industry is here? Right: fish. Can you guess what the main industry isn't? Right: tourism. Connie told me the harbor is too small for the big ships, so Petersburg has never been overrun- and the people there like it that way. Sounds like a perfect arrangement to me.  _

_            I went ashore with Connie to briefly inspect the "tent city" that had been built to give the summer cannery workers a place to say. It's a mass of blue plastic tarps, with tent platforms connected by a boardwalk. A central pavilion has coin-operated showers, sinks, phones, cooking areas, and firewood. The place is basically a community of college students and migrant workers. Ironically enough, I had a lot of fun with them the short time I was there._

_            After that, Connie and I parted ways. I never did find out why she seems to have such a mixed view about college. I guess it could be attributed to the toll the "real world" takes on people when they find out something isn't all it's cracked up to be. At least she kept her word and didn't try to force any "real world" advice on me. Hell, except for that brief change in mood on Monday, Connie acted nothing less than helpful and fun in showing me the ropes on "surviving Alaska," everything Tish said her cousin would do. Still, you have to wonder what Connie's deal was. Something's definitely up with her._

_My book of Keats poetry became my main companion on the last leg of the journey to Juneau. Alaska's state capitol is surrounded on three sides by an ice field and on the fourth by water. Making the city seem even more remote and wild are the nearby mountains and forest. Still, it's a bustling place and full of a lot of government offices to boot. _

_You know, it's funny. The towns of Southeast Alaska I've stopped in so far are involved in two worlds- the sea and the land. They are surrounded by glaciers and mountains and forests, yet they are as much a part of the salt water as much as the wildlife itself. The people who live in them work in the forests, or in the sea, or in commerce, including the dreaded tourism industry that's spreading like the plague. They must deal with a lack of highways, connected to the rest of the country by the usual technology of satellite dishes, phones, computers, etc. However, because they're on the busy Marine Highway and are also accessed from the air, there's an unusual- what's the big vocabulary word Phoebe would use? - worldliness about these Southeast towns that surprises me. _

_ Connie was right. The view is breathtaking, and I'm intrigued to see more. _

_************************************************_

**Author's Note: Hope this'll tide you over for a while. Next chapter, of course, will deal with the start of Arnold's own summer and Aunt Mitzi and Arnie's sudden arrival. However, before I can update _Set Me Free_ again, I'm working on a special one-shot treat for your _Hey Arnold!_ reading pleasure. Look for it soon, and thanks again for reading!**


	18. Arnold: Step Right In

**Set Me Free**

**Author's Note: Hi, everyone! I'm back after three years of not updating _Set Me Free. _****I apologize, but I've gone through some life-changing events that forced me to keep my writing at a minimum. Hope you enjoy this chapter. I worked very hard at it. Keep on reviewing!******

Arnold: Step Right In 

**_He's a pro_**

'Cause you'll find he'll go harder 

And so hard he'll step right in…

Dishwalla, "Gone Upside Down"

June 2001

It was clear Grandpa was none too pleased at Aunt Mitzi showing up out of nowhere.

"Arnold, why the Helen of Troy did you let _her_ in?" he snapped as I ambled into the kitchen with Aunt Mitzi and Arnie in tow. "I'm having enough trouble with the broken down air conditioner to add her to my problems."

To be honest, I didn't share Grandpa's petulance with Aunt Mitzi. She was a lot of fun to be around. It was Arnie I had the problem with. _Why did he have to show up now?_ I wondered in dismay. Luckily, Lila was out of town at the moment. Even more of a fortunate development was the fact that Helga had left as well. The embarrassment Helga might've been subjected to from Arnie's advances nearly equaled the mortification I would've had to endure at Lila mooning over Arnie.

"Phil, is that any way to treat your favorite sister? Come here!" Mitzi cried, embracing her brother. She cackled when Grandpa stiffened at her display of affection.

"Mitzi, how can you be my favorite sister? You're the only sister I have!"

"Arnold, perhaps you have better manners than your grandfather?"

"Sure thing, Aunt Mitzi." Smiling, I hugged her briefly.

"Thank you, Arnold. I knew it was a good idea to at least come visit _you_. I do apologize for not being able to attend your graduation, but Arnie's was the same night as yours, and since Arnie is my grandson…"

"No problem. I completely understand. Arnie, how was your graduation?" I asked more out of obligation to be polite than a curiosity to actually know what it was like.

Naturally, Arnie's reaction was one of bored neutrality. "It was okay." He shifted the weight of the suitcases he carried from his left hip to his right hip. "Can I put these somewhere?"

I glanced expectantly at Grandpa, and he shrugged indifferently. "If you want to put up with no air for a couple of days, be my guest."

A mischievous gleam entered Aunt Mitzi's eyes. "Oh, Phil, we'll be just fine. After all, we're staying for the entire summer!"

"This is wonderful! The visiting team is back!" Grandma exclaimed, appearing in the doorway. She was dressed in her blue-and-yellow cheerleader's outfit, shaking her white pom-poms.

The expression on Grandpa's face was priceless. "The whole summer! How am I going to win against these odds?"

"Don't worry, Phil, you'll have plenty of chances of compete against me," Aunt Mitzi reassured him, laughing heartily. "First, though, I think some relaxing is in order. Arnold, please lead the way."

Already weary of the sibling rivalry between Grandpa and his sister, I gratefully departed from the kitchen with Arnie and Aunt Mitzi to show our guests to their rooms. As we did so, Grandpa just _had_ to have the last word by yelling, "Mitzi, you may have won this battle, but you haven't won the war!"

& & &

Not long after the visitors had settled in, I executed my escape out of the boarding house to go to work. Okay, I really had about an hour before I had to report to Mrs. Vitello's shop. However, being by myself sounded preferable to spending that extra time with the company we'd suddenly accumulated. While Aunt Mitzi laid down for her daily afternoon nap, Arnie chose this opportunity to approach me.

"Hey, Arnold, what are you doing today?" he inquired, opening the door and sticking his head into my bedroom.

_He wants to spend time with me?_ I guessed in horror, looking up from my book. Lucky I already had a good excuse in the form of work. I glanced at my alarm clock. Unfortunately, it was only noon, but what he didn't know certainly wouldn't hurt him.

"Uh…I have work today. Now, as a matter of fact."

Arnie's face actually exhibited disappointment. "That's too bad. I'd thought we'd play Chinese checkers," he explained, fully entering my bedroom and brandishing the long cardboard box in his hands.

"Try Grandpa," I suggested. "He's a pro at Chinese checkers."

_Sorry, Grandpa,_ I apologized. Although I didn't feel very good about myself for lying, desperate times called for desperate measures. At any rate, Chinese checkers was more my grandfather's hobby than mine. In his day, he was the one who had competed in lots of tournaments undefeated. At least until a rival player named Robby Fisher bested him, resulting in Grandpa retiring from the Chinese checkers business in shame. Forty years later, Grandpa regained his honor when he beat Robby Fisher in a rematch.

Abandoning Grandpa to his possible fate with Arnie, I headed toward the nearest bus stop outside the boarding house. Along the way, someone called out my name. I halted, startled at Phoebe's unexpected presence yet glad nonetheless to behold a familiar face.

"Hi, Phoebe," I greeted her, smiling warmly. "What's up?"

"Arnold, you're just the person I was looking for."

"Why?"

I was curious about Phoebe's uncharacteristic directness. Was she going to ask another favor of me? If so, I couldn't imagine what. Helga was already on her way to Alaska.

Phoebe was silent for a moment before she adjusted the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and inquired, "Did you see Helga this weekend?"

Without warning, my face heated up fiercely. _How could I be reacting like this?_ I wondered in amazement as Phoebe studied me closely. It was a simple get-together. I had nothing to hide, least of all from Helga's best friend.

"Yes, on Sunday," I affirmed, trying to seem nonchalant about the matter. "We first went to the boardwalk to eat corn dogs and play whack-a-mole, then we visited with Agatha Caulfield for the purpose of Helga getting writing tips to help with her short story contest."

"That was very nice of you," Phoebe remarked thoughtfully, and I instantly became suspicious.

"Wait a minute," I abruptly started. "How would you know whether or not I was with Helga anywhere this weekend?"

At that query, Phoebe's eyes slid downward, her own features coloring somewhat. _This conversation is way too embarrassing for the both of us, _I thought ruefully. I was still confused as to why she'd broached the Helga topic with me.

"When I bade Helga goodbye this morning," Phoebe clarified, "Mr. Pataki wasn't exactly the most pleasant person to be around."

Needless to say, that was the understatement of the century.

"Of course, Helga tried to resist her father's attempts to hurry us up since he was so impatient about setting off to Seattle for the first leg of their trip. The weird thing is Helga obeyed Mr. Pataki as soon as he asked if you would come by again to see her off, too." Phoebe shrugged. "I'm not surprised Helga refused to give me any details behind what Mr. Pataki implied."

"A true Good Samaritan doesn't seek praise for his deeds," I joked, feeling uneasy.

"All the same, I still want to thank you. You've been a great friend to her."

How could I respond to such a statement? The furious blush on my countenance, even brighter than the first one, spoke volumes. Phoebe's lips curled back mischievously.

A bus, whose route included a stop a block away from Mrs. Vitello's shop, pulled up at the corner. As the door whooshed open, I could've kissed the male driver from relief. Phoebe's behavior unnerved me more than I liked.

"Well, here's my ride. I'll catch you later."

"Later, Arnold," Phoebe echoed back, wearing an expression of indecision that I chose to ignore.

This resolve reached me while I sank into a seat: I had focused on Helga Pataki long enough; it was more than time to remove her from the forefront of my life for now.

& & &

Almost two weeks passed away much in the same manner as I had willed it on the bus. No thoughts of Helga passed unbidden into my consciousness, for there was plenty of Grandpa and Aunt Mitzi's feuding to occupy my time. Surprisingly, when Grandpa wasn't busy with attempting to make his sister's life miserable, he took it upon himself to teach Arnie his expert Chinese checkers tricks. The goal? To get Arnie to compete in weekly Chinese checkers tournaments in Tina Park. Personally, I didn't care, because Arnie left me alone in blissful peace.

Phoebe didn't come around, so I only encountered her when she was with Gerald. We never spoke a word about her best friend. Indeed, it seemed as though a wall had been erected between us. Nevertheless, I knew such a barrier could be easily broken down, for we were merely a little embarrassed about our slightly awkward talk of Helga. On the other hand, how much of a friendship did Phoebe and I enjoy? Our ties were mainly due to Gerald Johanssen. If one extended this bond to Helga Pataki, I supposed we could be labeled comrades, especially with the recent circumstances that propelled me to become intimately involved with Helga and Phoebe's relationship. Strangely, once Helga was removed from the equation, the point of Phoebe and I joining together lost steam.

As for Gerald, his conduct toward me altered somewhat considerably, too. Flying high on the novelty of his recent hook-up with Phoebe, Gerald utilized every opportunity on hand to hang out with her. No, he didn't purposely slight me; he would always honor any quality time commitments if I requested it of him. However, I didn't take advantage of such a system very often since I had no desire to be a possible third wheel should Phoebe be invited along. Instead, I sought out Harold, Stinky, and Sid for companionship.

Gerald's brother Jaime-O arrived home a little later than expected. Excited nonetheless, I took the liberty of calling on Jaime-O myself while my grandparents and Aunt Mitzi went to watch Arnie finally compete in one of those weekly Chinese checkers tournaments in Tina Park. Luckily, Jaime-O had strategically placed himself in the Johannssen's garage to work on his car, sparing me the ordeal of having to face Jaime-O and Gerald's penny-pinching father.

"Jaime-O, guess who," I called, wandering into the open garage.

Jaime-O swung his long, well-toned body out from under the car. "Hey, brat," he addressed me, standing up and wiping his hands on a heavily soiled cloth. "Here to see Gerald? He just left with Phoebe."

_What a surprise to hear Gerald's with Phoebe again_, I marveled sarcastically and immediately checked myself. How I could express any derision toward my own best friend's happiness? Could it be I was slightly jealous?

"No, actually, I'm here to see you," I explained to Jamie-O, returning to the current task at hand. Hesitating briefly, I tentatively asked, "Jamie-O, can I get personal with you for a moment?"

Shrugging, Jamie-O answered, "If this is about why I came home for the summer, I'm not shocked Gerald told you about it."

"Well, I thought I'd find out how you're doing."

His broad face scrunched into a frown. "Sorry, Arnold, I don't think it's appropriate to be discussing this subject with a kid your age."

"Jamie-O! We need to talk!" Mr. Johannssen yelled from inside the house. "What are all these cell phone charges?"

"Excuse me, will you, Arnold?" Jamie-O bounded up the garage steps and banged open the screen door to let himself in.

Sorely disappointed at my lack of success, I commenced the long walk back to the boarding house. Next time around, I would have to approach Gerald to discover the real source of Jamie-O's burnout. I simply couldn't believe Jamie-O was only worried about his grades.

& & &

As soon as I entered the boarding house, Grandpa exclaimed from the kitchen, "Short man, is that you? Come here!"

When I'd finished following Grandpa's voice to the source like I'd been instructed to do, I gasped, started at the sight before me. Grandpa, along with Aunt Mitzi, was grinning proudly at my cousin. Arnie clutched a first place trophy, presumably from the Chinese checkers tournament. _He's actually smiling!_ I realized in dismay. In a way, it was very creepy to witness Arnie show expression.

"Is it's wonderful, Arnold? Arnie won first place in the Chinese checkers tournament!" Aunt Mitzi needlessly elaborated.

"Yeah, Arnie's a chip off the old block!" Grandpa cackled, slapping Arnie enthusiastically on the back.

Grandma appeared from the pantry wearing a mermaid outfit and shoved a platter of battered fish at my face. "Would you like a fish to celebrate?"

My stomach turned, but the sour sensation wasn't solely from apprehension of my grandmother's cooking. There was no mistaking the emotion this time: I was definitely jealous!


End file.
